


Avocados in Love

by Jonah_Smith_907



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: And Fluff too, Angst, Depressions, Don't worry, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt Matt, Hurt/Comfort, Insomniac Matt, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, TriggerWarning, depressed matt, sad matt, tags might change later on, there's lots of comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-02-27 11:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13247622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonah_Smith_907/pseuds/Jonah_Smith_907
Summary: It is one thing to share a room with someone, Matt finds, but a complete other thing to share every secret with that guy, trusting him and letting him see how broken he really is. It only gets more difficult when people from Matt's past show up and try to ruin his life. Also: love is dangerous.Guys, I'm almost sorry for what I'm gonna do to both Matt and Foggy, but definetely not sorry enough.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is basically only how Matt and Foggy met and what their relationship is like, so not so much drama yet. 
> 
> This took me ages because I didn't feel well lately, but the next one will follow fairly soon.
> 
> Also: I have absolutely no clue what a college looks like - I'm fron Germany, hi - and I also have no idea what the rules there are or anything like that. Feel free to fill me in, though.

Foggy had moved into the dorm earlier than most other students, exactly one week before classes began. He had been so eager to finally get out of his parent's house and start studying law, he hadn't wanted to wait. So he arrived perfectly on time at 8.00am, one Saturday prior to the start of his classes. 

 

Now he was sitting on his freshly made bed and neatly folded his shirts and trousers, placing them exactly on top of each other before putting them into the closet. He knew chaos would take over in a few days – maybe a week if he was lucky – but for now he wanted everything to be tidy. 

He wasn't expecting a roommate because he hadn't been informed about one, so he used all the space for his clothes and other things, turning the empty room into a comfy surrounding with lots of stuff everywhere, though still tidy. 

After he was finished, he put his writing tools and books into the desk at the window. The other one stood at a wall and next to the closet, hidden in the shadow. And Foggy really preferred sunlight. 

He placed his laptop on top of his desk, switched it on and wrote a quick e-mail to his mum, telling her he arrived safely and had a nice room and things you tell your mum on occasions like these. 

 

The week went by dreadfully fast and one morning Foggy found himself running late for his first class on his first day. But luckily he made it just in time to arrive half a minute before his teacher and managed to put his things on his desk without dropping anything. 

Without hesitation the professor wrote his name on the blackboard – Mr. Blake – and started talking: “You probably think, becoming a lawyer is easy and only a matter of learning, but without talent you are doomed. So don't even begin to expect to survive the following -”

Mr. Blake stopped talking mid sentence, shooting a disapproving look to the door, eyes narrowed. Foggy followed his view and spotted a guy about his age standing there. He was clutching a cane to his chest and wore a pullover with jeans and round, dark glasses, hiding his eyes. His black hair was neatly combed, but it looked like it would stick into every direction if it hadn't been.

With different words: he looked stunning.

“Excuse me. Is this room 341?” The young man's voice was deep and had an ever so slightly rasp in it, his tongue carefully forming each word with precision. 

“It is, indeed, as you can see on the little sign next to the door.” Mr. Blake's voice however, was dripping with degradation.

“Well, I'm afraid I can't.” A tender smile flashed over his lips, though Foggy wasn't entirely sure if his eyes reflected it, too. 

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize your … circumstances.” The teacher quickly turned from rather annoyed to awfully helpful. “What's your name then?”

“Murdock. Matthew Murdock.” The young man didn't seem to be too surprised that Mr. Blake hadn't noticed his blindness right away. Although you might think the cane would give it away.

“Good. I'm Mr. Blake. Take a seat so we can continue lesson.” 

Foggy watched as Matthew turned and went to one of the last rows, a few seats next to him. His movements were swift and smooth, he didn't hesitate once, the corners of his lips pulled up a little in some sort of apologetic smirk, but as soon as he sat down and the other students looked back to the front, his face dropped and he ducked his head a little, concentrating. At least that's what Foggy thought.

 

Foggy spent the entire afternoon in the library. Not that he studied the whole time, no. He mostly watched a young woman named Marci he noticed a few days back and tried very hard not to get caught staring. Which obviously did happen. But she just grinned and winked at him – he nearly passed out at that – and then slipped him a note, saying to meet up with a few others at 6pm, to grab a beer or five. 

 

It was a nice evening, although the five other men left rather early – and very drunk – while Marci and Foggy stayed a little longer. It was surprisingly easy, speaking to her. He didn't have to pretend anything. She genuinely laughed about his silly jokes but they could also discuss more serious matters, finding common ground. 

They left around 10pm, staggering home. Marci insisted on going alone, so obviously Foggy followed with only a few feet distance. They arrived after a surprisingly short while, stopping in the middle of the campus. 

“I could've gone alone, y'know.”, she pointed out, slurring slightly.

“Yeah, but I'm a gentleman. No gentleman leaves a lady alone at night.” He was surprised about how sure his voice sounded. 

Marci grinned. Then she put her hands around his neck, pulling him close. He responded by laying his hands on her hips lightly, smiling like an idiot. He could feel her hot breath on his skin as she leaned in, pressing her lips on his, inviting him in. He followed order very willingly, exploring her mouth, drowning in her kissing-skills. She really was talented. 

Foggy pulled her impossibly close, pressing his body against hers, her breasts against his chest, her leg suddenly pushing into his crotch. A soft moan escaped him, making her smile against his lips. 

And then she pulled away. Just like that. He huffed at the loss of warmth.

“See you tomorrow.” With a teasing smile she turned around and walked away, leaving Foggy alone in the warm night. 

He grinned and made his way to his room. He had never expected to get that close to such a hot woman as Marci was, on their first night out. 

He opened his door and stepped inside. He switched on the light – and nearly let out a small scream, but he could just prevent that. There was someone laying in the other bed, apparently asleep. Foggy's thoughts were racing. Nobody had informed him about a roommate. One who liked silk sheets. He couldn't help but pout, dropping his keys carelessly on his desk. Then he went to check the closet. 

All of his clothes had been carefully placed in one half, the other half was full with the clothes of the other dude. Though he got the impression that his stuff still took more space.

His attention got drawn back to the other bed, when the sleeper in it let out a ridiculously loud yawn and sat up. Foggy turned around and felt his mouth fall open. 

“Oh you have to be kidding me.”, he let out under his breath. The man sitting there in a T-Shirt and Pyjama bottoms was Matthew bloody Murdock, his dark hair even more of a mess than earlier that day, sticking into every direction. 

The effect of the alcohol was gone by now. The kiss with Marci was one reason for that, finding out he had a roommate all of a sudden, the other. 

“Um … sorry.” His voice sounded a little scratchy from sleep. “You must be Franklin.” He got up, apparently very sure of himself, because he didn't even hesitate when approaching him, offering his hand. “I'm Matthew Murdock. I think we share a few classes.”

“More like all of them.” He took the hand – beautiful hands by the way; strong and big – and shook it. While doing so, he thought to himself that this hand, shaking his soft but firm, could break things within seconds. Or pleasure women when having sex, though he should probably not go there. “You can call me Foggy. Sorry that I woke you up.”, he eventually added, going back to the closet and getting out his sleepwear. “Would it bother you if I called you Matt? It's shorter.”

“No need for apologies. I wasn't very far away yet.” Matt smiled a crooked smile, his unseeing eyes currently focused on something behind Foggy's shoulder. “And no, that would be nice.” He looked pretty surprised, touched even. Foggy wondered how many secrets that man kept hidden inside him. Though he was determined to get to the bottom of them all. 

Matt then turned around and went back to bed, laying down on his back, eyes staring at the ceiling.  
Foggy followed his example, feeling tiredness crawling up his eyes. He'd never known anybody blind, so he wasn't entirely sure how to treat the other man, but he thought that maybe he'd want him to treat him just normal. He'd try that. 

 

When Foggy woke up the next day, Matt had already left. He yawned, got up and stretched, then put on some random wear. Then the image of his roommate, neatly dressed and even looking hot in a pullover popped up in his mind and he chose his clothes more carefully, ending up with a button up shirt.

“Wild.”, he murmured as he opened the first two buttons, examining himself in a mirror. After that he went to his classes. Something tingled inside his stomach at the thought of seeing Marci again. But at the same time the name 'MURDOCK' screamed at him from the back of his mind. He wasn't even sure what that was supposed to mean. Although it sounded pretty hot. He wondered what it would sound like, rasping that name on the edge of cumming into those beautiful big hands of – yeah he should stop thinking these kinda things. Otherwise it might get a little awkward. 

“You okay?” The slightly worried face of Matt suddenly appeared in Foggy's field of view, who hadn't even noticed how his feet had carried him to his classroom. Matt held his cane loosely by his side, his head was tilted to the left a little. 

“Uh yeah, sure. Why do you ask?” At this point he was a little worried that the other one had heard his pounding heart, beating against his ribcage. He shouldn't have thought about … dirty things before going to class. He shook his head. “You left early this morning.” Even to his ears this sounded like a frustrated schoolboy, asking his date why he – no wait, she – hadn't stayed longer.

“Yeah. I … took a shower. Anyway, lesson starts in a few minutes.” He pointed at the door. “Shall we?”

“Sure.” He grinned and walked past him, shyly smiling at Marci, who was already sitting in the second row. She returned it widely and perkily blew him a kiss. He liked to imagine that he didn't turn bright red in the instant. He was just glad Matt couldn't see it. 

 

This evening Foggy went out with Marci again. But this time they didn't go to a bar but he took her out for dinner. It was probably a bit forward, considering they had only met once before, but he really wanted to do that.

Matt however, stayed home. At least that's what he said he did. But when Foggy finally staggered home – they had drunk and snogged and touched each other intimately – he found the second bed empty and cold, apparently untouched. 

Later that night though, Foggy woke up all of a sudden – it was still dark – and saw Matt twisting in his bed, clutching to the sheets. He was muttering in his sleep, but he couldn't make out what he was saying. 

Foggy got up and went to him, nearly tripping over a pile of clothes, and gently squeezed his shoulder. “Matt? You okay there, mate?”

The other man jerked awake violently, a dry groan escaping his throat. He pushed Foggy away, simultaneously crawling backwards until he hit the wall behind his bed. He was panting heavily, darting eyes shooting through the room. His hands were shaking, his chest rising with every shaky breath. 

“Wha- what? Who are – who – what?”, he rambled. He usually had a perfect pokerface, but now, in this rare moment of exposure, his unseeing eyes showed all the emotions he kept hidden so well. In this case: panic. Pure, cold panic.

“It's me, Matt, Foggy. Your roommate?” Foggy backed away a little, raising his hands in defence. 

And with those words something fascinating happened: Matt calmed down immediately, forcing his mask back up. “Right. Yeah. Sure. Sorry.” He drew another shaky breath and subconsciously grabbed his own shoulders with his hands, hugging himself tightly. 

“You okay?”, he asked again.

“Yeah. Just uh … nightmares?” It sounded more like a question than a statement, an escape out of this situation, an escape out of this question. He couldn't answer it, not honestly, not now. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I'm fine, Foggy. Go back to bed.” 

“Like hell you are! What the hell, man? What's wrong?”

“Nothing! For god's sake, Foggy, I'm fine!” He looked straight up angry now, brows drawn together, lips a thin line. “I'm … I'm fine.” He sighed again, even heavier this time. “Go back to back.” Now his voice had gone really quiet, small even, his tired eyes looking sad. 

So Foggy didn't keep pushing. Instead he nodded. “Fine. Just … take it easy.”

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.” He slowly laid back down, curling up under his blanket. 

Foggy followed his lead, wondering what could possibly have disturbed the other man like this, that he'd let his so carefully constructed facade drop. He listened to Matt's breathing until it had calmed down completely, only then he let himself drift off into sleep. But he knew that his roommate wouldn't sleep any more this night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, you can go to my Instagram page Jonah_Smith_907_Fanfictions.  
> I will post updates there and you can send me prompts if you want.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Matt Whump, but with awesome Foggy to get him out of his thoughts.  
> Quite heavy chapter, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright fellas, hope you'll enjoy this one, I'm just glad that I managed to post it so soon. It is however very possible that the next chapter will take a while. Or not. I don't know yet.  
> Just stay put

This morning was different from the last one. Matt hadn't already vanished when Foggy's alarm went off, but was still all tangled up in his sheets. His dark hair was the only thing that stuck out from down under. Foggy was tempted to shake his shoulder again to wake him up, but when he thought about how he had reacted to that the last time, he changed his mind and decided to only use his voice. Safer for him.

“Matt? Wake up, it's late already.”

“Mmh.” Matt groaned and rolled onto his back. He brought his arm up to his face and wiped over his eyes with his hand. 

“You awake?” Foggy approached the other one carefully, sitting down on the edge of his bed. 

“Yeah.” He yawned, sat up and blinked sleepily. 

“You look like shit.” Foggy grinned. It was true though, Matt had dark circles under his eyes, his face was pale and his lip was split open, which either indicated that he'd gotten a nice beat up – but come on, he's blind, right? – or that he had bitten on his lip until it had started bleeding. “Come on now, get up.” 

“Well I wouldn't know.”, he grinned back. Then he slowly got up, moving as if he was hurting or something, but he didn't say anything. Not that he'd ever say anything. He changed into some decent clothes, grabbed his cane and then turned to Foggy again. “Let's go.”

 

It didn't surprise Foggy that Matt got attention form girls. He looked good, you might even say hot. So obviously all the hot girls had a crush on the handsome blind guy. And basically everyone else.

But the girl approaching him, sitting on a bench at lunch, was a 11 out of 10. 

Foggy decided to go into observation mode and watched them until they left the campus. Maybe he even would have followed them – though that might have been a little creepy – but then Marci showed up and everything else was unimportant all of a sudden.

 

Matt wasn't really good with people. He didn't know how to talk to them or how to keep up any kind of relationship. Of course he could find the exact right words to convince someone of basically anything, but that didn't help him right now.

“Hello there.” He turned towards the female voice with the French accent, slightly confused. “I'm Elektra.”

“Well hello.” Odd name, but okay. He smiled at her, trying not to look like a little schoolboy when caught steeling. “I'm Matthew. Can I help you?”

She chuckled. “Yes, if you want to call it like that.” She brushed against his arm with her shoulder when she sat down next to him. “I was wondering if you fancied getting lunch with me.”

“Uh … yeah. Sure. Why not. Now?” She had taken him off guard and she knew it. And he knew that she knew.

“Yes, now. You pay.” 

He could hear her grin. But there was something about her that made him want to find out more about her. “Of course.” He chuckled. 

“Let's go then. You need a hand?” She offered him her arm.

“Uh … yeah. Sure.” He hesitantly accepted her offer, feeling a bit awkward about it, but he figured that's what blind people normally did.

They got going, heading for a little Thai restaurant not far away. They sat down on a table near the window and ordered food.

“So, what did you do on the campus then?”, he eventually asked. 

“Oh, just hanging around.” He caught the little hitch of her heartbeat, informing him about the lie.

“Really?”, he pressed. 

“Or maybe I noticed you last night.” She smirked at him, an evil, teasing smirk. “And I thought 'wow, those pants hide nothing.'”

Matt felt as if someone had emptied a bucket full of ice water above his head. The smile he had managed to keep up for so long dribbled off his face. “Ex- … excuse me?” He felt his hands gripping his own thighs hard, almost to the point of hurting himself, but he couldn't bring himself to stop.

“Oh you know what I mean. Your costume. I've seen you fight. Quite impressive, really.” She propped up her head on her hand, resting it on the table. 

“And you are telling me this because …?” He tried not to show how disturbed he currently was. Nobody knew about his abilities. Nobody knew anything about him to be precise. 

“Because I find it hot. I find you. Hot.” She slipped out of her shoe.

Matt hissed with surprise when suddenly he felt her foot, travelling up his leg, over his thigh up to his crotch. She let her toes stroke over his dick, smirking when he responded immediately, already half hard after a few minutes.

“I'm not sure I understand.”, he eventually said, making quite an effort to keep himself from panting. 

“Oh I think you understand just fine. Do you want to go to my place?” 

“I think so, yes.” At this point he chose to ignore the fact that she obviously knew about his nightly activities and instead let his defences down a little. Nowhere close to completely gone, but enough to get involved with this mysterious girl, Elektra. And although she should be around the same age as Matt, she acted way older than 19.

“Follow me.” She got up, taking him by his elbow, leading him outside. 

 

Matt came home late that day. He'd missed one lesson, which was very unlike him, and nobody had seen him since lunch, since he'd left with that girl. Now it was 11pm, he was utterly exhausted and tripped over thin air when he entered his room. Which ripped Foggy out of his sleep.

“Now look what the cat dragged in.”, he yawned.

“Sorry, did I wake you up?” He made his way to his bed, slumping down on the mattress. Then he took off his clothes until he was only left in his boxers and a shirt. 

“Yeah you did, but it's fine.” He sat up. “So, how was it?” He grinned. “I saw you leave with that unbelievably hot girl.”

“I don't know what she looks like, but uh …” He chuckled. “She certainly _feels_ nice.”

“Oh, I see.” He interlaced his fingers in excitement. “Now tell me everything!”

“Well, we went out for lunch. She asked me, actually. And then she did something incredible with her foot. Sooo … we went to her place.” A huge smile flashed across his face, brightening up every feature of his, making his eyes shine. 

“Now that's awesome! And? Will you two meet up again?” 

“Probably.”

“What's that supposed to mean? Probably?!”

“I'm not very good with relationships, you know.” He curled his lips up into a crooked smirk, took off his glasses and put them on his nightstand. “I tend to be rather destructive.”

“That's bullshit. Just go for it and see how it goes! And if it doesn't work out, you can still break up with her. Or are you too polite to do that?”, he teased. 

“I can be very rude, if I want to.” Matt chuckled. “But I don't think we already have something … big enough to call it a breakup.”

“Huh. You'll figure it out. And now go to sleep, I'm tired.” He let himself fall back on his mattress, waiting for the other one to do the same. And to his surprise, Matt actually fell asleep rather soon. He knew, because he called his name once or twice to see if he got a reaction. There was none. It was oddly calming, knowing that the other one didn't spend the whole night counting sheep. 

 

It was still dark when Foggy woke up the next time. He wasn't sure what had woken him up, but now that he was, his throat felt sore and dry so he decided to go and get a glass of water from the bathroom. 

But just as he was about to leave the room, he noticed that the other bed was empty. 

He squinted suspiciously at the lack of his roommate and shuffled down the dark hall and into the bathroom, heading straight for the sinks, but as he entered the room, he heard someone showering, motioning behind the curtain. He stopped dead in his movement. It was four in the morning. Who the hell would be showering at four in the morning??

Though he had an idea who that might be. 

Foggy walked over to one sink, leaning slightly against it. “… Matt?”

The person obviously froze, for a few seconds there was nothing more to be heard than the water, dropping down from the showerhead. Then there was a quiet sigh. “What are you doing up, Foggy?” He sounded tired. Like not physically tired – though that probably too – but more emotionally tired. Perhaps even frustrated.

“I could ask you the same thing.”, he shot back curiously. He wondered how he could have gone from happy and possibly lovestruck to … this?

“Don't.” His voice was now even smaller then before. Defeated.

“Okay.” He took a closer look at the shower Matt was in, trying to figure out what was wrong, when he saw that the water that went down the drain wasn't only water. There were red streaks in it, swirling in circles around Matt's heels, the only part of him that Foggy could actually see in the dim light when stooping a little and peeking under the curtain. Was that … ?

“Could you please leave now.” It wasn't a question, more an order. 

And Foggy obeyed. This was so weird. He couldn't help but think about Matt as a wounded animal, scared and cornered and obviously very uncomfortable about it “Yeah. Sure. Uh … try and get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay.” Matt knew he didn't sound convincing and he also knew he couldn't keep this game up for much longer, but he was willing to try everything. “See you later.” His roommate had to think he was insomniac or something, the way he kept being awake in the middle of the night. 

Of course the thought of sleep alone let him sigh in desire, wishing for nothing more than a good night's sleep, full eight hours. Just once. Just going to bed in the evening and waking up the next morning well rested and refreshed. But that was a privilege for better people. People that didn't lie the whole time, to basically everyone. People in front of which he had to pretend the whole time, pretend that he was fine and a normal blind law student. As normal as that was. 

He waited until Foggy left the room, then he got out of the shower and slowly got dressed. He was well aware that the other one had noticed the blood. He had heard his breath hitch. 

Matt put on the pants he had sneaked out of their room before he had went to the showers and started dressing his fresh wounds, checking on some old ones. A few of his ribs were cracked, but nothing too serious, along with two deeper cuts that needed stitching, but he could do that. He had practice after all. 

This night had been a rough one. There had been a few men, going out to find easy victims to rape. Just for fun. It were things like theses that made Matt ashamed to be a man. So naturally he had taken on the fight, only to find out that the three of them were quite strong. But he had been able to handle them fast enough to disappear before the police showed up.

Though he hadn't actually planned this. 'This' being him, going out almost every night, fighting against whatever opponent there was, not caring about his own health. He couldn't keep but thinking that he _had_ to go out, that he _had_ to fight. That he owed that to the people of Hell's Kitchen.

He probably even deserved it to get beaten up this much, considering how much of a lying bastard he was. He knew that Foggy was trying to be his friend and that he tried to help him although he didn't even know what was going on, but Matt didn't know how to let himself have a good relationship with someone. He didn't know how to trust others. He had learned differently.

Ten minutes later he sneaked back into their room, paying close attention to Foggy's heartbeat. It was strong and calm as always, though a little bit faster than usually. He quickly went to his bed and stuffed the black clothes he went out in at night under it, making sure that nothing showed. 

Foggy waited until Matt was laying in his bed before he spoke up: “You know, I was really glad yesterday evening when you fell asleep and I thought 'yay, Murdock-boy won't be up in the middle of the night again' but I guess I was wrong. I called your name to check if you were already asleep.”

He sounded honestly concerned, with a hint of frustration. “I know. Sorry. I didn't want to worry you.” Matt sighed. He was so tired, he just wanted to sleep. But he knew he wouldn't be able to. Not today, anyway. So he could as well tell something to reassure the other one. 

“That's bullshit and you know it. You just didn't want to talk about this.”

“True.” His voice was sharp, but he was only trying to mask the tears welling up behind his eyes. He could hear Foggy's heart picking up in pace again. Matt was laying on his back, still as a stone. It was obvious that his roommate wanted, no needed to know something about him, something personal. Maybe that's how people became friends? By sharing things? “I wasn't always blind.”, he offered.

“What? Seriously? Oh god, what happened?”

“Uh … there was an accident when I was nine. I pushed a man out of the way of a car which then crashed into a truck with pretty illegal chemicals which then got into my eyes.” He felt a lump forming in his throat. It was still difficult to talk about this.

“Wow, that's both heroic and horrible.”

“Yeah, well, that's not all of it. My dad was a good man. He was a great father. He was a boxer. And one night he won one fight instead of losing it because he wanted me to hear him win just once. He was shot the same night.”

“Jesus Christ.” Foggy immediately understood what Matt was trying to say: his dad had lost on purpose to make money.

“Then I came into an orphanage but nobody knew how to handle the weird blind kid so I guess I was pretty alone.” He clenched his jaw a few times before he managed to keep talking. He wondered if this was a little bit much at once, but he also figured that now was as good a time as any other, so he might as well finish the story: “And finally a guy named Stick came around and trained me, showed me … how to cope with my blindness.” It wasn't a complete lie. “But he had rather … unorthodox ways of doing so.” He tried to force the feeling of his hands out of his head, the feeling of those strong, cold hands, travelling over his own damp skin and – “He left me when I was twelve because I got too attached to him.” 

“That sounds like it's straight out of some dramatic movie.” Foggy shifted on his mattress, laying on his side, facing a seemingly very disturbed Matt. He could barely see the shape of his face in the darkness, but there were enough rays of moonlight to let the tracks of his tears shine. It made his heart ache to see how much the other one had suffered but at the same time he was pretty impressed. Matt was still kicking, still living his life. Or at least he tried. 

“Yeah, kinda does.” He refused the urge to wipe over his eyes and instead cleared his voice. “So … that's my story.”

“I can't say that mine is anywhere near as dramatic as yours, but I do have one. You know, my mum wanted me to be a butcher.”

Matt turned his head, a doubting expression on his face. “A butcher?”

“Yes. A butcher. But I said, 'No, Mum, I want to be a lawyer.' I don't remember what I said next.” He grinned. “And now look at us, both on our way to be lawyers. Isn't that awesome?!”

“It is.” Matt chuckled. This was nice. Talking and joking. Better than brooding all day by himself. He yawned. 

“You know what? You are going to sleep now and I swear to god, if you start wandering around again, I am going to chain you to your bed.”

“You shouldn't use the name of God for this kind of expression.”, he nagged. 

“Do you want me to get ropes?”, Foggy threatened. 

“No, fine, I'm already asleep, see?” He closed his eyes and pretended to snore. Foggy threw a pillow at him, breaking into high pitched giggles when it hit Matt directly on the head, who of course threw one straight back, to Foggy's surprise hitting him on his chest. He shot a look at the other one and found him grinning widely. 

He really did look stunning when he smiled. He just didn't do that very often.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Elektra, mention of Stick, fighting, DESCRIPTIONS OF SMUT (not very much though, I'm glad I managed to write it at all) and DESCRPTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND SCARS AND WOUNDS (Idk just don't blame me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so idk why, but this took me ages, it's longer than any chapter I've ever posted and I found it utterly exhasuting to write. Anyway, the 4th chapter will follow soon, I think, and there's gonna be so much drama :>

_“How the latest report of the police shows, the vigilante of Hell's Kitchen, the so called _Daredevil_ , has struck again. Last night he defeated three men who were trying to rape a young woman. Proponents celebrate the man without fear, saying the city is a better place with him watching over it, whilst opponents are concerned he will undermine the authority of the law.”_

“Could you please switch that off?”, Matt asked. Him and Foggy were sitting at their favourite bar – the only one they could afford – and drank a few beers, celebrating the end of another week, having had the most stressful day. 

“Sure thing.” Foggy did as requested, silencing the device. “You don't like him?”

“I don't find him that interesting. But I think he's trying to do good.”

“Yeah? I think he's a douchebag in a costume, jumping around at night because he thinks he's better than the law.”

“But don't you think he's making a difference?” Matt's chest tightened with anxiousness, wanting nothing more than for his friend to believe in him. Although of course Foggy didn't know it was him who fought against the sheer uncontrollable crime every night. 

“Maybe. But I also think he's encouraging criminals to go out at night, too, because Daredevil can only be in one place at once, while there's a whole lot more of thieves and rapists and murderers.”

“So you think he should go out more?”

“I don't know. Why are you so curious about him? It's like you're his friend or something.” Foggy chuckled.

“Yeah, right.” Matt tried to return a convincing grin, but it was rather difficult. “Let's talk about something else, then.”

“Alright. How's things with Elektra going?”

“Aha. Yeah. Well.” This time his smile was genuine. “It's … it's going well. Very well.” 

“Do you think by now it would be enough to call it a breakup?”

“Oh yes.” He nodded. “I'll meet her tomorrow and we'll spend the day together.”

“At her place?” Foggy winked at him and grinned. “I just winked at you.”, he added.

Matt laughed and leaned a little forward, his smile brightening up his whole face. “Probably.”

 

The next day came fast and Matt was a little bit nervous, which was rather unusual for him, but he managed to hide it pretty well. 

“Hello, Matthew.” Elektra had a beautiful and unique way of wrapping her tongue around his name, cloaking it in her French accent.

“Hello, Elektra.”, he returned. He was standing on the pavement as they had agreed on. He was a little surprised to hear an engine running. “Is that your car?”, he asked. 

“Yes.”

“…Did you pay for it?”

“No.” She grinned, leaned over and opened the door. “Get in.”

He chuckled, shook his head and did as he was told. 

 

They drove in silence for a while, until Matt couldn't keep his mouth shut for any longer. “So you know about my … nightly activities.” It wasn't a question.

“Yes.”

“And you didn't blow me.”

“Well I did. In bed.” She grinned. “But I didn't tell anybody, if that's what you mean.”

Matt liked to imagine that his face didn't turn bright red in embarrassment, but according to the sudden heat, radiating from his skin, he was convinced he had amazing similarity with a tomato. He cleared his throat. “Why not?”

“Why should I? That would destroy our relationship.” She chuckled. “You are adorable when you are embarrassed.”

Again he cleared his throat. “Yeah. Right.”

“And I have a surprise for you.”

“Really? What is it?”

“If I told you it wouldn't be a surprise any more.” 

“Ah.” He smirked. “Right.” It was weird, being around Elektra. It was as if she knew about his senses – which of course he hadn't told her. But she certainly had to know that he wasn't quite normal, because they had once gone to Fogwell's Gym, the one where his father had boxed, and gotten into the ring together. They had been alone and they had quickly discovered how much fun it was, fighting against each other. Turns out Elektra herself was a very good fighter, too. 

She made him feel normal and living and good. He liked being around her. He liked not being just 'The blind guy' people avoided because they didn't know how to act around him. 

 

Elektra stopped the car about 20 minutes later, got out and waited for Matt to follow. 

“Where are we?”

“This is the house of an old friend.” Matt was certainly not suspicious enough to catch the lie. “Wanna have some fun? The owner won't be home in a long time.”

“How do you know?”

“I simply do.” She took him by his elbow and led him inside. The door was open. “Come in and enjoy your stay.”

The building was huge. The rooms were wide with high ceilings like a mansion. Matt took in all the impressions with awe, grinning like an idiot. “And he's not coming home soon?”, he made sure.

“No.” She smiled, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. “You wanna try something exciting?”, she whispered hoarsely into his ear. 

He leaned into her body and gripped her hips, felt how her hair brushed against his lips. He nodded. “Always.”

“Let's have sex in the kitchen.” Elektra didn't wait for more of a response than a surprised chuckle and pulled him into the next room. 

Matt easily lifted her up and sat her down on top of the kitchen counter, stepping between her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer by his belt. Her skilful hands quickly slipped it open, pulled his pants down, while he carefully opened her blouse, his long and slender fingers fidgeting with the buttons, so very impatient to feel her skin on his, needing her hot body to warm his aching heart. 

A soft moan escaped Elektra when he finally kissed his way down her neck, softly sucking and teasing her until he reached her chest. He gently opened her bra and threw it on the floor, so he could finally do what he had wanted to do all day. He cupped her breasts into his hands, kneading them firmly, throwing the veins on the back of his hands into relief. He could feel small scars on her, too, but he didn't say anything. She had fewer and less dominant ones than him, but they were still there. 

But the two of them didn't do much talking and this certainly wasn't the right moment for it.

Elektra tilted her head back and gripped Matt's hair as he started sucking her hard nipples, yet eventually she pushed him back a little and pulled his shirt over his head so she could see him, but as soon as he felt her gaze lingering on his torso, he pressed himself against her again. 

He didn't want her to see his scars, didn't want her to realize how ugly he was. 

Of course she noticed, anyway. 

This time she was more gentle with him when she once again separated their bodies. She could see how uncomfortable she made him by simply looking at him, so she decided to do something about it. She didn't want him to feel bad about his own body. 

Though she couldn't keep herself from frowning as she noticed the thin and neatly placed scars just above his elbow, but she knew better than pointing them out or touching them. She was well aware of how brutal Stick's methods were, she had experienced them herself, but something in her guts told her that Matt had been through even more shit, which had apparently caused the cuts.

Elektra let her fingers lightly run over his heated skin, let them travel over his scars and follow their pattern. Then she leaned forward and kissed him, placed her lips on every old wound she could find, some of them still scabbed and she could feel him shudder under her touch, but if from pleasure or discomfort, she didn't know. She didn't stop, either.

“I don't like them.”, he suddenly whispered, shame dripping from his voice. 

“You are beautiful, Matthew.”, she whispered back. “Your scars just show how strong you are.” She smiled widely at him and took his face into her hands. “And now kiss me like you mean it.”

Matt gently smiled back at her, a real, genuine, stunning smile. “I always mean it.”

 

“Is it good? All of this? This life?”, he suddenly asked, holding a glass of whisky in his hand. They had fucked and kissed and finally grinned like idiots while looking for their clothes, which they had thrown to the floor earlier. Then they had rummaged the kitchen and the living room until they had found the alcohol.

“It's fantastic.” She paused for a brief second before continuing. “But I would trade it all in for a lifetime of smelling your skin.”

“Really?”, he teased, closed the distance between them with a few steps and wrapped his free arm around her waist. “You'd want to put up with me for so long?”

“I would never miss my chance of hooking up with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.”, she grinned.

Matt was about to reply with something that he was sure would have been incredibly sassy, but just as he opened his mouth, they were interrupted by the sound of keys, trying to open an already unlocked door. “Somebody's coming.”, he warned. 

“I'll handle it. You stay here.” Elektra sounded oddly calm. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought she was expecting the confrontation with the intruder. 

Little did he know how much he would learn to hate the rest of this evening. 

 

The first sign of alarm he showed was when he heard the sound of a short fight, fast and quickly over. Of course it only took him a few seconds to listen to both present heartbeats and to figure out that Elektra was currently dragging a limp – but alive – body over the floor. Matt frowned slightly worried and went to the entrance hall, where the noise had come from. 

“Hello, Matthew. “, Elektra greeted him. “Say 'Hi' to an old friend of yours.”

“Who is this?”, he demanded to know, keeping track of the breathing pattern of the other man, who was now tied to a chair and just gained back consciousness.

“He owns this place.”, she explained, before dropping the bomb: “His name is Roscoe Sweeney. Remember him?” She watched every expression on his face, observing every change of his features. The little frown, how he drew his eyebrows together, looking like a lost puppy.

Matt felt as if somebody had once again emptied a bucket of ice water above his head. “I know who he is.”, he managed to get out through gritted teeth.

“And who the fuck are you?”, the man croaked, a curious expression on his ugly face.

“You don't remember me?”, he asked, barely keeping his voice calm. “You killed my father.”

“Well I hate to break it to you son, but I killed a lot of guys' dads.” A smug smile appeared on Sweeney's lips.

“Then let me help you... he hit hard, like this.” Matt punched the pile of scum in front of him in the face, right on his nose. A very satisfying crack let him know – let them all know – that he just broke it. Three more punches followed, breaking the man's skin and the smell of blood filled the air as he spat out a tooth. 

“You call that hard?”, he groaned. 

“Get it out.”, Elektra suddenly said, approaching her lover. “Get it out. Whatever is inside you, do it for your father, Matthew. Do it for us.” She stepped back again, standing next to Roscoe. “Come on.”

“Matthew?”, Sweeney snarled. “You're Battlin' Jack's boy.” He grinned. “Now I know your name. Nothing to stop me from blooding the street with your corpse, just like I did to your old man!”

And this was it. This was enough to make Matt furious, to make him lose the little control he had managed to hold up all this time. Again he connected his fists with Sweeney's face, again and again, until he went still, not even groaning any more.

But eventually Matt stopped.

“Keep going”, Elektra pushed. “Keep going, Matthew!”

“No-no, that's … that's all I got.”, he panted. “It's all I got.”

“No, Matthew. Let it out, kill him!” She leaned towards him and hoarsely said into his ear: “Kill him.”

“Wh-What, no.” He pulled away from her touch, disturbed by her sudden longing for murder. Her heart was beating fast with excitement and her breathing was increased a little, as if she had been running. “I don't want to kill him!”, he protested, trying to keep his hands, balled into fists, from shaking. Yes, he did beat the living crap out of people on a regular basis, and yes, it was always for a greater good. But this, this was different. It was Matt, who was hurting this man. Matt, not Daredevil. And he did it all for himself and it felt _good_. It felt good to finally get revenge for all the shit he'd gone through, just because this shitbag had decided to kill his father all those years ago. 

“I know you want it.”, Elektra tried. “He's a bad man. He deserves it.”

“What if I'd deserve that, too?”, he whispered, guilt shooting through his body in form of adrenaline. He made his decision and cleared his throat. “I am not going to kill him.”

She looked at him for a long moment, neither of them speaking, neither of them moving. Then she slowly nodded and sighed. He immediately felt alerted when he felt the rush of air against his sensitive skin, though he wasn't quite sure why. “I told him you wouldn't do it.” Her lips curled up into a sad smile. 

“You told who?”, he asked in confusion. 

“Stick. He sent me.” Her accent was stronger than usually, he noticed. Thick. 

“He … he did what?!” He felt as if his world was collapsing on top of him. It was suddenly hard to breath, there wasn't enough air in the room, the walls were closing in on him, the room feeling smaller and smaller.

_Be a good boy, Matty._

_Maybe then I won't have to punish you._

_Maybe then I'll stop._

It was a lie. All of it, his whole life was a lie. He'd never break free from his old _mentor_. Stick would always find him, hell, he didn't even leave him alone in his sleep.

“He wanted to recruit you again but he needed you with less … moral. He needed you willing to kill. But I knew you wouldn't do it.”

“You didn't – didn't even know – know me.”, he stammered. He could smell the sweat on his palms, the sweat of fear. 

“I knew you were Daredevil. That's enough information for anybody to know that you're a good person. You have never killed a man.” She rose her hand as if she was about to stroke his shoulder, but stopped halfway, unsure of how to continue. She ended up dropping her arm. “I know how twisted Stick's methods are. But you are a good man, Matthew.” 

“No, I'm not.”, he replied, ducking his head. “I'm not a good man.” He gestured to the unconscious Sweeney. “All I do is hurt people. Like I'll hurt you.” He could feel his own heart skip a beat, while hers was calm, although elevated. 

“How do you mean that?” This time she proceeded in petting his arm, but he flinched away. 

“I hope you understand that after … this” Again he motioned to the older man, still on the chair. “We can't be … together any more.” Sudden anxiety flooded his veins. He really really hoped he hadn't gotten it wrong.

But he could hear her muscles twitch, turning her lips into another blue smile. “I know.”, she softly agreed. “I understand.”

“Call the police. Tell them you've located a fugitive from law.”, he told her. “Please don't contact me again and tell Stick to keep his fingers out of my life.” He waited for another wave of air to tell him she nodded. Then he turned around and slowly headed for the door but as he reached it, he hesitated for another moment. He turned his head, speaking over his shoulder. “I enjoyed our time together, Elektra.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Matt drew a shaky breath and slipped out the door into the night. 

 

As soon as he was far enough away from the mansion, he allowed his tears to fall. He sniffled.

It wasn't only their breakup that upset him this much. No, this was bigger and much worse. Because Elektra had only done what she'd been told and he was sure she didn't just use him. She could have tried a different tactic on trying to make him kill somebody after all. Instead she had used love. Or the imagination of it. Though it had been genuine from his side, which was terrifying enough. 

He'd thought after Stick, he'd never be able to get comfortable with his body ever again, yet Elektra had shown him differently. And now he was left alone once again, ashamed that he thought somebody would actually, voluntarily, spend time with him, show affection towards him, without ulterior motives. 

He was pathetic. And he didn't like it. So naturally, he hailed a cab and went back to college – he'd had no idea where he even was – sneaked into his and Foggy's room (What was their relationship anyway?) and snatched his Daredevil-clothes from down under his bed, careful not to wake the other one, deep and constant breaths informing him about his sleep. 

He scurried into the bathroom and quickly got changed, feeling a scream building up inside his chest, desperate and fraught. Matt stuffed his normal clothes under one of the sinks and made his way out of the building through a window and down the facade, faster than ever before, and less cautious than he probably should have been. 

 

It was the sound of a female voice that caught his attention later that night, angry but scared in the rush of the night. The furious response of a man ensued. Matt immediately set off into the direction it came from, taking the way over rooftops, jumping from one building to the next, feeling the wind pull on his clothes, as he sensed the danger in the still verbal fight. He stopped for a brief second, standing right at the edge of one of the houses. He lowered his head, taking in the depth in front of him. 

He could always slip. Or miscalculate the full size of the rooftop. It would be an accident. 

An intended one. 

Matt anxiously shook his head when the truth of what he had just been thinking about reached his brain, adrenaline shooting through his veins at the terrible realization, fear clinging to his heart. 

He didn't want to die. Not really. But he didn't want to live, either. 

A series of volley of oaths snapped him out of his thoughts, drawing his attention to more urgent matters. He took a deep breath and speeded to the source of the sound. 

Turns out it was a woman, maybe in her mid-twenties judging by her growth disks, who was currently being cornered by three older guys, one of them repeatedly insulting her, making attempts on touching her, though she kept pushing him away, trying to escape, but they wouldn't let her. 

Matt could feel himself grow angry, pushing back his good side, letting out the devil inside. “You better leave her be right now.”, he growled, no trace left of the polite lawyer.

The men turned around with a jump, searching for the origin of the terrifying voice, but what they saw didn't exactly calm their nerves: it was a person, lurking in the shadows, absorbed by the darkness. Well at least it had to be a person, but there was no trace of light on his body, every flash was swallowed by his black clothes, a mask covering the upper half of his face. His body was slightly crouched, ready to jump. He looked like a cougar, shortly before killing its dinner.

“And who – says that?” There was a brief pause, as if the spokesman had to rethink if it was really a man he was addressing and not a _thing_. Daredevil chuckled slightly at that thought. Maybe they were right, maybe he was just a thing. Right now, anyway. 

“Me.”, he answered, stepping out of the dark and into the light of a street lamp. You might think this view was less scary, but the sight of a 5 feet 11 tall man in tight clothes, showing every single muscle in his body was rather intimidating. He had a lot of muscles. And wearing a mask was really not helping. Plus, a forbidding smirk was lingering on his lips, giving him the look of a psychopath, looking for his next victim. 

“Well I ain't going anywhere.”, the tallest of the three bullies exclaimed. Apparently he wore a hat and was just about as tall as Daredevil and not untrained, but that was no reason for concern. He stepped forward and away from the woman, who was making a good job in looking confident, but Matt could hear her heart throbbing in fear. “You wanna make trouble, dickhead?”, cap-guy peeved. 

“Only if you do.”, he scowled back, taking another step closer. “Unless of course you want me to hurt you until you beg me on your knees to stop.” He wasn't in the mood for nice talk. He was in the mood to fight. To give pain and to receive pain. He needed the grounding, otherwise he was afraid he would do something … stupid. 

And he got what he secretly – or not so secretly – wanted. 

Cap-guy was the first one to attack, swinging at the masked man, who easily ducked out of his reach, having long seen the move coming. He replied by landing a perfectly aimed punch in his opponents guts, making him double over. Then he swung around and kicked him to the head. Cap-guy dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes as he went out like a light. 

This really short fight, that maybe lasted for a rough minute, caused the other two to plan their approaches better. 

Bully two one tried to distracted Daredevil by throwing a stone at him – which he caught easily, threw it back and knocked the douchebag out – whilst bully number three went straight for his stomach – unfortunately the distraction had worked – and pushed him backwards against a wall. Matt groaned when he hit his head on the bricks and sharp pain shot through his brain. He grunted and shoved bully number three away from himself, but immediately chased after him and defeated him with a punch against the throat, leaving him gasping for air, followed by a kick to the temple and he fell to the floor, unmoving. 

“Are they … dead?”, the woman asked, stepping towards the stranger.

He tilted his head, suddenly scared. Had he lost control? Had he gone too far? What if – no, all three hearts were beating, steady and still strong. “No.”, he finally answered. “Just unconscious.” His head hurt. He reached up to feel the back of his head. His hand came back bloody, the smell of copper filling his nose. He grimaced. 

“You okay?” He flinched when she took his hand into hers. He hadn't heard her closing in. “That's blood. Are you bleeding?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I'm fine.” He shouldn't be the one having to be asked that. “How about you? Did they hurt you?”

“No, they didn't touch me. You came just at the right time. But I'm not the one who's bleeding.” She went to touch his head, but he quickly took a step back. “Let me have a look at that.”

“You know, that mask has a reason.”, he tried to argue.

“I can wait until you pass out, if you want.”, she sarcastically offered. “You are swaying, my friend.”

“I don't even know your name.” He sighed, despite his best efforts feeling himself growing tired. “How do I know you won't tell anybody?” He hated the way his voice sounded. Like a child.

“I'm Claire. And you are not the first vigilante to cross my way.” She tugged at his arm. “Now follow me, I only live a few streets away.”

“Ah.” He still hesitated. He wasn't one to trust somebody easily. But he knew he was weak. Weaker than usually, anyway. He had been fighting all night long, against multiple enemies, murderers, rapists, thieves. Now he was wounded, a few cuts here and a few bruises there, nothing serious, he thought, but the lesion on his head would draw attention if he bled into his pillow. 

So he went with her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I promised, there's more drama - what a surprise - and fluff (well kinda).  
> I think the fifth chapter is going to follow fairly soon again but idk could either take a day or a week

“You know, you have to take off the mask for me to stitch it.”, Claire grumbled. 

“I … I know.” Matt took a deep breath. He didn't feel safe.

“I'm not going to tell anyone.”, she replied and frowned. “Or hurt you.”

“Did-did I say that out loud?”, he asked, lowering his head. Shit.

He knew she gave him a weird look when she said: “Yes. You did.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “I didn't mean to … offend you.”

“I'm not offended.” She wondered what the hell was going on. It didn't seem right for such a strong man, made of pure power, nothing more than muscles and bones and skin, for him to look this … small. His fingers fidgeted with his shirt. “I'm just trying to help.”

“Yeah. Me too.” He looked up – at least he seemed to – and smiled, lips curling into a crooked smirk. Now he looked even smaller. “Could you at least uh … close the curtains?”

“Sure thing.” He listened as she walked to the window, felt the little rush of air on his skin as the fabric moved and then came back to the couch, where he was currently seated. As soon as the windows were covered, Claire could see him relax. Only a tiny bit, but a small part of the tension in his shoulders disappeared. He could probably do with a massage. “And now take it off. How do you even see in this thing??”

“I don't.” A raw chuckled escaped him, but he did pull the black mask off his face, slowly, as if he was afraid of what was going to happen next. As soon as his face was exposed, he ducked his head and started twisting the fabric, fingers stroking the raw material. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Claire took in the sight of him, his dark hair sticking into every direction. His eyes stared slightly to the left of his knees, while his sharp jawline was highlighted by the lamp she had just turned on. She quickly grabbed her first-aid-kit and got out needle and threat. 

“It's … complicated.” To be honest, he was too tired to explain it. “Just … stitch me up and I'll be gone. You won't have to deal with me ever again.”

“You aren't going anywhere! You will stay here for at least a few hours so I can be sure you don't have a concussion and pass out on your way … somewhere.” She turned him around so she could sit behind him and get a better look on his head.

“I do have a concussion.”, Matt sighed. “But I won't pass out.”

“You are weird, you know that?” She grinned. Then she lightly hit his shoulder. “And you aren't going anywhere, my friend!” After that she gently began to clean and stitch the cut with steady hands. “What's your name, anyway?”

Matt considered lying to her. It would be safer. Then again, she had already seen his face. It didn't seem quite fair towards her. After a few minutes he sensed how her breathing hitched a little, as if she was going to say something. “Matt.”, he finally answered. “My name's Matt.” He couldn't keep his hand from gripping his thigh tightly. 

“Alright. Now that's process.” She finished the last knot and examined her work. Almost immediately after, she saw how his nails were digging into his leg, knuckles already turned white. Without saying a word, she gently brushed over his hand and took it into hers. 

“I should get going now.” He suppressed a yawn. “It's getting late.”

“Or early. It's almost 3 in the morning.” 

“Yeah. I should really go. I've got class tomorrow.” 

“Why, are you a teacher?” She grinned. “You look a bit young for that.”

“No. I'm studying law.” Again he cracked a smile. “I know, the irony.” 

“You care to tell me the story behind that?”

“Not … not today.” Or ever. He got up, careful not to sway, ready to climb out the window.

“Alright, fine.” She figured he had enough shit going on without having to tell random people the story of his suffering. “At least let me give you my number. In case you need … medical assistance.” Or just a break. She watched as the other one turned completely stiff, not one muscle moving, obviously thinking really hard. Eventually he pulled out a phone from a pocket and hesitantly handed it to her. He still didn't trust her. Claire quickly entered her number and gave it back to him. 

Matt stuffed the device back into his trousers and walked over to the window, pulled back the curtains and opened it. He was already half way outside, but then he turned around again, his jaw clenching a few times before he got the word out.

“Thanks.”

 

“You look like shit.” Foggy was standing in front of Matt's bed, looking at the little hump under the blanket, representing his roommate. Only his face showed, dark circles under his eyes and worn out in general. “And you are running late.”

That was enough to wake him up. “What? Shit.” Matt quickly wiggled out of the sheets and practically jumped to the closet, pulling out some decent clothes and putting them on. “Why didn't you wake me earlier?”, he grumbled. 

“Honestly? You looked like you needed the sleep. And you still do.” Foggy waited for him to finish and handed him his cane. “Come on.”

Matt didn't answer but just sighed and followed him. 

 

Later that day, Foggy was sitting on his bed, laptop in his lap, and watched Matt, who was sitting at his desk and pretended to be working. He obviously didn't, though, he was just kind of slumped into his chair, hands not moving over the book he was currently reading, and sometimes he let out a quiet sigh. 

“You want to tell me what's going on?”, he eventually asked.

Matt jumped a little at the sudden question. Then he turned around to face his roommate and gave him a sad little smile. He wasn't really sure if this was an issue normal people discussed without feeling pathetic and stupid and embarrassed, but at this point he just really didn't care. “Elektra and I broke up.”

“What? Why? You seemed to really like her.”

“I uh … well she … she did something which I couldn't tolerate.” He took a deep breath. “I saw a side about her that was … unpleasant.” 

“Wait.” Foggy got up and walked to the other one. “She didn't cheat on you, did she?! Because I swear to god, if she did, I'm gonna make her regret it!”

Matt chuckled softly, trying to ignore his stinging eyes. “She didn't cheat on me. She just … she was sent by somebody from my – both our pasts who wanted something from me.” He also tried to ignore the little spike in Foggy's heartbeat. “I I … I mean I believe her that she didn't pretend when we where together but -” He cleared his voice. “But it just … it sucks, and … I dunno.” He flashed a crooked smile at his roomie, in the attempt to dismantle his hurt. 

Foggy, however, saw right through it. “Okay so this sounds all kinds of fucked up, but I guess you don't want to talk about it, so I'm just gonna hug you now, buddy.” With that he pulled Matt up and towards himself. He put a hand on his neck as the dark haired man buried his face in his shoulder, hiding his tears. 

The moment didn't last for that long. Only a few minutes had passed when Matt pulled away, took off his glasses and shortly wiped over his eyes before putting them back on. A quiet “Thanks” was all he said before sitting back down on his desk, to keep pretending to work. 

Foggy kind of understood that the other one clearly wasn't fond of those kinda things, so he resisted the urge to ask anything stupid or, even worse, do anything stupid. He simply returned to his laptop. 

 

Matt was a rough sleeper. Very often, when Foggy woke up and Matt happened to be actually asleep instead of showering, he was murmuring and moving and seemed always on edge, ready to jump out of bed and punch people. Though aside from that one vivid time where Foggy had woken him up – and got pushed away _hard_ – there hadn't been any further incidents like it. Not until now, anyway. 

“Please don't! No, don't hurt me, please!” 

Those were the first words Foggy heard when he woke up. Matt's voice sounded small and rough and _terrified_. He was twisting, arching his back and shaking his head from one side to the other. His hands were clutching to his sheets but occasionally they'd come up to his chest in a defensive gesture, as if he was protecting himself from something. Or someone. 

The view of such a strong looking and sassy man, turning in his bed, drenched in sweat, face painfully screwed up into a panic-stricken grimace and every now and then crying out for help, was more than disturbing. 

And Foggy didn't know what to do. His brain helpfully supplied that he shouldn't wake up a sleepwalker, and he didn't know if the same applied for dreaming people. After several more minutes of watching the agony of his friend, he decided that he didn't care whether he was supposed to wake sleeping people up or not.

“Matt?” He didn't dare to touch him directly – remember last time? That could have gone worse! - so he threw a pillow at him, which, after hitting him at the legs, fell to the floor.

Though the reaction he got immediately afterwards was not something he had ever wanted to witness: Matt startled awake with a loud gasp, his whole body going rigid before he slowly forced himself onto his side, back turned towards Foggy, and curled up in himself. After a few seconds of heavy breathing, quiet sobs started shaking the man's shoulder's, but no sound was to be heard. That's the result of living in an orphanage: Matt had learned be quiet. 

“Um...” Foggy cleared his voice. “Are you okay?”

For a few moments there was now answer, but then the other one spoke up. Kind of. “Uh … sorry … yeah” If he hadn't been crying and hadn't had a nightmare and hadn't been a terrible liar, his shaking voice would have betrayed him. He too seemed to realize that. “I – I – I just … I just had a … bad dream.”, he croaked, still without turning around. “But it's – it'll be fine. In a few minutes. 'was just a bad dream.” 

“Yeah, the second major one.” Foggy stepped closer and sat down on Matt's bed, hesitating a moment before gently putting a hand on his shoulder. “I mean you never sleep exactly calm, but I've never seen you this …” He searched for the right word. “Scared.”, he finally finished. 

“I wasn't … wasn't scared.” 

“Matt, you were terrified! You begged whomever you dreamt of, not to hurt you!” He slowly stroked the dark haired man's shoulder now. “Tell me what's going on. Please.”

“I don't … I don't want to.” He buried his face deeper in his pillow. Why did he have to be like this? Why was he, a Murdock, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, such a weak little sucker that cried from bloody nightmares?? And why was Foggy so bloody persistent? Why didn't he just ignore the weird blind kid, just like everybody else?

“Well, okay then. But I'm going to lay down next to you now, because I feel like you need it and you don't get a say in this.” Foggy didn't wait for an answer but did as he had threatened and snuggled against Matt's back, one arm laid over his waist and held him close by his chest. Matt didn't even complain a the contact. He didn't like admitting it, but he kind of did like being embraced by Foggy's warmth like that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was wrong. Didn't take me long. In my defence: I'd already written chapter 5 and a part of chapter 6 but I didn't know if the contexts all made sense and stuff. It was a little complicated.  
> Maybe I should explain.  
> First I wrote chapter 1 to 3. Then I got bored of 3 and started chapter 4 which I kept writing until chapter 6, while adding about two words a week to chapter 3. So that's why it actually took me so long...sorry bout that. I'll try not to do that again.
> 
> Oh, also: loads of physical hurt and emotional hurt but it's nowhere near as angsty as I had intended, I dunno what happened along the way. I'll fix it tho :'>

It was once again, that Foggy woke up way too early. One look to his clock told him it was only 4 o'clock in the morning. Though he had a thought on why he had woken. He sat up with a groan, grabbed the glass from his nightstand – to have a pretence – and made his way down the hall to the showers. 

He didn't know why, but today something felt different. Like different from all the other times he'd woken up in the middle of the night to find Matt's bed empty. Something hung in the air that made him feel all nervous. 

When, however, he entered the washroom, he immediately noticed the steam from the hot shower, but he also saw something he hadn't expected at all: the curtain wasn't where it was supposed to be, it wasn't closed. 

Foggy carefully stepped closer – and stopped dead in his movement.

Yes, Matt was there, standing under the spray of water. And yes, he was naked, which was quite some sight, really, I mean his ass was gorgeous and the way the muscles of his broad shoulders and the rest of his back clenched every now and then was absolutely stunning. But it wasn't only a pleasant view. Because there was blood, too. 

Lots of blood. 

He couldn't see where it was coming from, for Matt's whole body heavily leaned on his hands, pressing against the wall, his head lowered to his chest. He still hadn't moved at all. Foggy wasn't even sure he knew he was there. But his bare back wasn't all the way clean and healthy either, no. There were cuts and huge bruises, covering his skin in black and purple and green. But nothing big enough to explain the amount of blood.

And all he could do was gasp. Gasp, because of the sheer shock of seeing his friend like this, gasp because of the feeling of betrayal, heading straight for his guts like a punch in the stomach as he suddenly put together the pieces. It all made sense now. It was absolutely ridiculous and complete nonsense, but he finally understood.

And there was horror, too, because he had never seen so much blood leave a human's body. Ever. 

At the sudden sound Matt showed the first sign of actually being aware of his surrounding. He let out a weary sigh and slowly, oh so slowly turned around, seeking support from the wall by leaning his shoulder against it. He slightly lifted his head, doing the tilting-thing he always did. He cocked an eyebrow, as though he tried to figure out what was going on. His eyes looked dark. Like really dark. Dangerously dark.

The water was still running, the constant splashing the only sound in the room.

And Foggy couldn't help but stumble back until he hit the sinks and put the glass he had been gripping tighter and tighter all this time, down with a shatter against the hard material. He now knew where all the blood was coming from: it was a stab wound. No. Not one stab wound, several stab wounds, spread all over his torso. As far as he could see, there was also one in Matt's thigh, red and angry against his otherwise pale skin. 

It really was a lot of blood.

For a few seconds there was only staring – from Foggy's side, anyway – and quiet panting – from Matt's side – added to the sound of water hitting Matt's body, until the latter one finally spoke up: “… Foggy?”, he croaked. He was frowning, supposedly in confusion. If Foggy thought about it, he looked a little lost. And way too close to passing out than he would have been comfortable with. He was swaying a little, but obviously trying very hard not to lose control over his body.

“That's just … what the fuck!” And with that Foggy turned around and stormed out the door. It wasn't the most reasonable thing to do and most likely a little childish, but right now he couldn't deal with it. He couldn't process this terrifying information. He just needed a few minutes, though anger overlay the sting of guilt of leaving the other one who obviously needed help, but he couldn't bring himself to turn around.

 

Matt was left alone in the damp room, shaking, now that he didn't have to hold himself together any more, now that he was alone. 

He already felt tears stinging in his eyes, though he didn't know why. Perhaps it was because of exhaustion – he had been out quite a lot lately, more than usually, which was the reason why he had been too tired to react fast enough when the knives hit – or it was because his best and only friend had just left him. Matt didn't know if he had lost him for good, if Foggy would hate him now forever, or not. 

But perhaps the reason that he had been too slow to react properly in the first place was his breakup with Elektra. Thinking of her hurt. The memory of her French accent hurt. Her smell, still lingering in his nose, hurt. Everything about her made him hurt. But how their relationship had ended, that had hurt the most. 

And going out, fighting, feeling pain, that let his emotions go numb again, which enabled him to get up in the morning. Otherwise he would get overwhelmed, have a breakdown and people would notice. They would ask questions. They would care.

Matt couldn't handle it when people got worried over him. Not any more.

He groaned as he moved again, pain shooting through his sore body. He slowly dried himself off, trying not to ruin the towel with blood, then he put some dressings on all his wounds, covering his trembling fingers in the thick and metallic smelling fluid in the process. He was too tired to focus on stitching them, plus there were more urgent matters right now. He slipped into some sweatpants and a hooded jacket. Every single move he made hurt, but that was nothing new. Surprising was the pain in his chest. Not a physical one, no. That would've been nice, because that would've meant it would just go away after a few days. 

Or he'd die, either way it'd be fine.

This kind of pain sat right inside his heart. And it was new and disturbing and terrifying. He hadn't felt anything like it in a very long time. 

Eight years, to be precise. 

Obviously Elektra had made him feel for a short period of time, but the kind of pain the memory of her caused was different from the one he felt right now. Because in her case, she was the one who had caused it. 

In Foggy's case it was Matt who had caused it. And that just made it so much worse. 

He had felt numb for so long now, he hadn't even known he was still able to experience any kind of emotion. Even with Elektra he had been afraid that his feelings towards her had only been wishing. Imagined. Not really there. Fake. 

Discovering that they had been genuine – or still were – didn't really help, now that it was over.

He light headedly leaned forward and held on to one of the sinks, gripping it until his bruised knuckles turned white, until they hurt from the effort. He'd managed to get a friend. He'd managed to make his life work so well – mostly by hiding away every emotion he'd ever known, but still – and now it was all gone. Just like that, within two minutes, everything was shattered into pieces. 

He. He was shattered. 

This had been the jewel in the crown of his shit life.

A dry sob fought its way up his throat, making way for so many more, opening the gates for all his tears that had been hidden away so well. He ducked his head again, forcing back the urge to start screaming, because if he'd give in, there'd be no stopping. Instead he turned it into another harsh groan that hurt in the back of his already sore throat. 

After a few minutes of pulling himself together, taking deep, calming breaths, Matt carefully took his towel and his suit in one hand and Foggy's glass into the other and made his way back to their room. But it was long and utterly exhausting for his weakened body. He had to stop twice to catch his breath, leaning against the wall of the hall, praying that nobody would see him like this. 

When he finally stood in the door of their room, he leaned against the doorframe, searching for Foggy's heartbeat. It was there, strong but fast. Angry. 

“You forgot your glass.”, he panted, holding it up. Was it just him or did it smell weird in here?

“Yeah.” Foggy was standing at the window, looking outside. He didn't turn around. 

Matt pushed himself away from the upholding wood, let out another stifled groan through gritted teeth and staggered to his bed after closing the door, slumping down on it. He knew he didn't have to say anything. He sensed the small hitch of breath he always heard before Foggy said something. 

“You are Daredevil.”, came ultimately the statement. 

“Yes.” He barely managed to keep his pain out of his voice. He wished he'd just pass out so he could have at least _some_ peace.

“How?”

“It's uh … kind of freaky.”

“You are blind, Matt! Tell me how the fuck that works!”

“I can hear your heartbeat.” There it was, the jump of surprise.

“Seriously?”

Matt sighed. “I can hear … a lot of things. For example I can hear that the cat from three blocks away is hungry because its stomach is grumbling.” He ignored Foggy's gasp and kept talking, quietly and slow. He had to concentrate on every single word so he wouldn't slur in his exhaustion. Or maybe it was the blood loss, he wasn't really sure. “I can also smell that the last time the guy, in the room next to ours, showered, was yesterday morning and that you had toast for breakfast.” He cleared his throat, lowering his head a little more. He was weirdly anxious to tell Foggy this. What if he called him a freak? What if he'd tell someone? What if - 

“Let's say I believe you. How does that tell you how to fight off gangsters?!”

“It doesn't. It just tells me where things are.” Again he cleared his throat. What a shitty explanation. He could do better. He should. He had to do better. “I guess … I guess you have to think of it as more than just five senses. I can't see. Not like everyone else. But I can feel. Things like balance and direction. Micro-changes in air density, vibrations, blankets of temperature variations. Mix all that with what I hear, subtle smells. All those fragments form a sort of … impressionistic painting.”

For a while neither of them said a word. Matt was just glad that he had been able to explain himself this well. He had never done it before, so he was quite proud of himself, because on other occasions he might not have known how to say it. The smell he had noticed before was stronger now, but he still couldn't identify it. Or maybe he didn't even want to. He just wanted to sleep.

Foggy however had turned around by now, watching the other one closely, sitting with his back to him, his body slumped, nothing of his usual grace was left to see. Then he suddenly made a decision, walked over and sat down next to him on his bed. Close enough so they could talk quietly, but far enough away so they wouldn't touch. 

“How does that look like? I mean for you.”, he eventually asked. He could feel his anger slowly fading away, though he didn't like it, and being replaced with curiosity. 

Matt hesitated for a brief moment before he answered. This whole time he hadn't dared to look at his friend, but now he lifted his head and moved his eyes to where he hoped the other one's face was. “A world on fire.”

Foggy nodded slowly. “I believe you.” He then asked the one question that had bugged him since he'd found Matt in the shower: “Why are you doing this? And how the fuck did you even learn to fight?! You are still blind!” 

“Yeah. Um … you remember that man I told you about? Stick?” Yes, he answered the second question first on purpose.

“The one who helped you with the blind-thing?”, Foggy clarified suspiciously. 

“Yes. Well he did. Sort of. He trained me. He was blind, too.”

“So an old blind dude decided to turn a nine year old kid into a bloody ninja-warrior??”

“That about sums it up.”

“That's all kinds of fucked up.”

Matt chuckled dryly. “Yeah. He uh … he wasn't very … nice.” God, he wished he had his glasses right now.

“That would have surprised me.” Foggy sighed and turned towards the other one. “But why are you doing this?”, he repeated.

There was a long pause, silence hanging between them like a ghost. Then Matt spoke, picking each word carefully. “A few months back I was laying in bed, trying to fall asleep. And then I heard him.” He swallowed. “It was a man, who liked to pay his little daughter a visit, late at night when the mother was asleep.”

“Jesus Christ.”, Foggy muttered under his breath.

“Of course I called child services, but he was smart.” A terrifying smile suddenly lingered on his lips. “Nothing ever showed.” The memory was enough to make him feel sick. “So I paid him a visit once. I told him that if he ever touched her ever again, I'd know.” He cleared his throat in the attempt of getting rid of the heaviness that had suddenly wrapped around his heart. Or maybe it was the amount of blood he'd lost by now. He wasn't sure.

“Then why did you lie to me? You could have just told me.” Foggy was a little disturbed by the fact that Matt's life was the biggest shit-show he'd ever heard of. It had to be torturing to hear every cry for help, day after day. Though he was still pissed. 

“That's not something you just tell people. I'm a vigilante. The police is after me, bad people supposedly, too, and I don't want to put you in danger.” Matt smiled sadly at him. “I'll understand if you don't want to be my … friend. Any more.” 

It hurt Foggy to see how hard it was for Matt to wrap his tongue around such a simple word as 'friend'. “I ain't going anywhere. I get your point.” He petted his shoulder and suddenly decided that this had been enough tough talk for the moment. He hadn't quite forgiven him yet, but he was honestly concerned about the other one and his life was more important than a fight right now. “Let's have a look at those wounds of yours then.”

Matt didn't even complain – which was worrying enough – and opened his jacket. Foggy fought back another gasp at the sight. There were so many scars, old and new, forming patterns on his skin, and he couldn't even see all of them in the dim light. “You got these all within a few months??”, he exclaimed. 

“There's lots to do on the streets.”, came back the tired answer, and … was that a slur?? “Also my training was connected with several wounds.” He failed to mention that those wounds included mental ones. 

“Your dressings are bled through.”, Foggy pointed out. “I think you need stitching.” Ah. So that was that smell. Stupid Matt. He should have noticed it. Should have felt it. Should have.

“Um … I don't think I can do it. I mean I could, technically, but I'm too, uh, too tired to really … really focus.” It felt way too hard to admit to this than it should and being close to passing out didn't help.

“Well I'm not doing this. I don't want to hurt you and I don't even know how to do this.”

“You don't have to worry about hurting me.” Anything to make the numbness go away.

“Tough shit, I do.” That sentence had not at all been reassuring. “Can't you like call someone or something?”

“There is some-someone, actually. Could you, uh, you give me my phone? It's on my … my nightstand.”

“… Sure.” For a brief second Foggy wondered why Matt didn't reach over himself, but then he saw the expression of pain and pure exhaustion on his face and he decided not to say anything. His body had to ache with every movement, which probably caused more blood to run down the drenched patches. 

“Thanks.” He quickly dialled and after the fourth ring a woman picked up. 

_“Hello?”_ Claire sounded tired. 

“It's me, Matt.”

_“Oh, okay, hi. Are you okay?”_

“Would I be calling if I was?” He grimaced when he noticed how harsh he had sounded. “Sorry. It's just … long night.”

_“What's the matter then? Where are you?”_

“In my dorm room. I'm not that, uh, badly injured, but I-I need stitches and … and I can't do it right now. I can't … can't focus.” He ignored Foggy's judging glance he was sure he got, and waited for an answer, until the other one exhaled loudly.

“Give me the phone.” Foggy didn't even wait for Matt to react put just took it out of his weak grip. He knew he usually would have put on a fight – and won – so this wasn't exactly reassuring either. “Hello?”

_“… Who's that??”_

“Matt's roommate. I know he said he's not that badly injured, but honestly, he looks like shit, nearly passed out in the shower and was too 'tired' to reach over to his nightstand to get his phone. So I don't think that counts as 'not that bad'.”

_“Yeah, that sounds like him.”_ She sighed. _“Alright, listen. I can't leave here right now, but from the sound of it you need help fast, so I'll send someone. I trust her and she's a good person, so I doubt she'll ever say a word to anyone. Plus I'm her boss, so I can threaten to get her fired or something. She'll be over in 20 minutes. Make sure Matt lays down, feet higher than his head and doesn't … do anything.”_ Foggy could hear some muffled voices over the phone, apparently discussing something. _“Alright, listen, I gotta go. I'll send her right over. Her name's Lucy. Just … don't do anything stupid.”_ And with that she hung up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _whispers_ So much drama : >
> 
> TRIGGER WARNIGN: kinda graphic descriptions of self-harm and wounds and ... stuff. 
> 
> Also: I still have no clue of colleges, so it wouldn't surprise me if I got a lot of stuff wrong. Just .... try to ignore it or leave a comment.  
> Always leave comments

Claire stuffed her phone back into her pocket and went over to the break room. “Lucy?”

A woman of maybe 25 years, not much older than Claire herself, looked up and smiled. “Yeah, what's up?”

“I have … a friend, who is currently in need of some medical assistance, because he's into … extreme sports.”, She locked her eyes with Lucy's, brown meeting grey. 

Lucy frowned slightly. “Extreme sport?”

“Yes. You will find out. But for that you have to do me a favour, head over and patch him up okay? I know it's the end of your shift, but it's really important and probably urgent.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Just tell me where I have to go.” She was already tying her hair into a ponytail. 

“He's a student at law school. Third floor, room 312. Just knock and say I sent you”

“Sure thing, I'll be right off.” Lucy quickly went to pack a bag with all the things she'd need and already headed for the door, but before she could leave, Claire stopped her once more. 

“Two things before you go.”, she started. “First: when he refuses to lay low and recover for the next couple days, you may kick his sorry ass. Repeatedly.” She waited for the other one to nod, then she lowered her voice a little, looking at her sternly. “And if you speak to anybody about this, if you speak to anybody about him, I promise you that I will know and I will get you fired.” She smiled at her. “You got that?”

Lucy carefully nodded back, an uneasy feeling spreading in her chest. “Uh yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Okay.” Now what on earth was that all about?? It wasn't like she had to patch up Daredevil, did she now.

Claire nodded once more and then let her coworker go. She was sure that she could trust the woman with the pink highlights, which frankly looked stunning on her, she just really hoped Matt would think the same and not make trouble of any kind. Though of course he was probably the politest vigilante she'd ever heard of, but she had no doubt that he didn't have to change his voice to sound absolutely intimidating. 

 

Matt passed out fifteen minutes after he had called Claire. 

Of course he had refused to lay down, mainly because it had made him uncomfortable to be in such a position right now. He had to have the feeling of control, otherwise he might as well have a panic attack right then and there.

So Foggy sat close to him, the whole time on edge in case something happened. They brooded in silence, until Matt began blinking rapidly and clung to the mattress. He felt weirdly light, as if he was floating.

“You alright?”, Foggy asked, frowning in concern.

“Yeah. No. 'M fine.”, came back the slurred answer. “ 'M just … ah … just …” His voice faded until he was only moving his lips without making a sound. Then he tilted forwards like a marionette whose threats had been cut, but Foggy managed to catch him and heave him back on the bed, quickly laying his feet on a pillow to keep them higher than his head. Better late than never, right? 

Heave, because bloody hell, muscles were heavy. And Matt was nothing but muscles. Well that and sorrow.

“Matt? Hey, Matt, can you hear me?” He gently patted his cheek but got no response, apart from a low groan. “Shit. Shit shit shit! Fucking shit, Matt, I swear to god, if you die, I'm going to kill you!”, he muttered as he pulled off the dressing of the wound that had bled through the most – because out of five, three were bloated with blood, already running down his stomach – and took a look at it. With every breath Matt took more blood seeped down and dripped on the mattress, so he quickly got a towel and put it under his torso. “Fuck.”, he repeated. “Not good.” At least he was still breathing. So that was a plus. 

Foggy was just about to freak out because his brain had shut down and wouldn't let him access any kind of information about first aid, when suddenly it knocked.

“Oh fuck.”, he let out under his breath. Had somebody heard them arguing? What if he just didn't open up? Would they leave??

“This is Lucy. Claire sent me?”, a woman quietly spoke up. Her voice sounded muffled through the door.

“Shit, right, yeah, sorry.” He rushed over, quickly unlocked the door and let her in. “He passed out a few minutes ago.” He ran a hand through his already messy hair. “And he put some kind of dressings on, but they're mostly bled through and there's really a lot of blood. I'm Foggy by the way.”

“Umm … okay.” She looked a little confused by the whole situation. “How did this happen again?” As she listened to Foggy roughly explaining how Matt had ended up passed out in his dorm room with several deep cuts and a whole lot of bruises, she snapped on a pair of blue gloves and went to work. At some point her expression had changed from mildly confused to really uneasy – near scared, really – but she didn't make any attempt to leave. She was in the middle of stitching the worst wound and had to wipe away blood after every knot because otherwise she couldn't see what she was doing. “So … let me get this straight.” She eventually cleaned and closed the last of Matt's wounds, put a dressing on it and then sat down on the floor next to Foggy, back leaned against the bed. “This young man here is blind, but because of some weird chemicals he now has enhanced senses. And he jumps around at night, fighting bad guys.”

“Basically, yes.” Foggy cleared his throat. “Was a bit of a shock when I found him standing in the shower with the curtains open and blood everywhere.”

“I can only imagine.” She let out a deep breath. “This is a crazy night.”

“You tell me.” He yawned. Then he turned his head to look at her in concern. “He's gonna be okay, right?”

“I think so, yes. He doesn't have any internal bleeding, which is good, but he should drink a lot to make up for the blood-loss.”

“Alright. Got it.” He gave her a thumbs up, before he frowned at her. “Aren't you gonna stay for longer?”

“As much as I like you, I still need sleep.” Lucy grinned and petted Foggy's arm. “You're gonna be fine. Just tell him to be more careful.”

Foggy could just snort at that. “Yeah. Sure. Like hell he will.” He sighed. They had a very uncomfortable conversation ahead of them. Additionally to the first one, though that had been more angry than anything else. “Thanks anyway.” 

“Sure thing. Just give me a call if you need anything, in case Claire occupied elsewhere. We need our vigilante. He's doing good, but I don't think he'll be able to jump around like that if he's dead.”

“Let me get his phone.” He reached over to the nightstand, where he had put the device earlier, and opened a new contact. “Shoot. No, wait. You're not gonna tell any one, right?”

“No.” She actually sounded offended. “I'm not an asshole. Now let me give you my number.” 

 

Matt was in agony. There was no other way to put it: he was in true pain. Sure, he'd been through worse, but that didn't mean it made this situation any less horrible. A raw groan escaped his sore throat, as he tried to sit up, eyes still closed. 

It did not work well.

“Woah, easy there, buddy.” Wait, was that Foggy? What was he doing here? Did he know? What had happened? Where was he, anyway? 

“What …” He didn't get further than that; his voice got stuck somewhere in the back of his throat.

“Umm … you passed out on me. Lucy stitched you up, but she's already gone. I put her number into your phone though.”

Matt cleared his voice and started another attempt of a complete sentence: “Why … why are you still here?”

Foggy sighed. What kind of a question was that?? “Because this is our room?”

“No, yeah, I know, I mean … why are _we_ here?” Foggy could see how confused Matt was, his face pulled into a frown, lips slightly parted and his eyes flickering through the room nervously. 

“Oh, you mean why I didn't bail on you when you came home injured?” He rolled his eyes. Sometimes he really couldn't understand his friend. “Because I'm not an asshole.” Matt didn't seem to believe him. “Look, I know you lied to me for quite some time, but I do get your point with the whole not-telling-me-thing.” He paused. “You were trying to protect me and yourself.”

“Why would I protect myself?” Now he sounded even more confused, which was not exactly reassuring. “I mean yeah, I was too selfish to give you up, but why would that be protection?”

“ … because I do assume that you have some kind of feelings? And you didn't want to get hurt … more?”

Matt let out a dry chuckle, rolled onto his side in painful slow-motion – seriously, it was already painful just watching him – and closed his eyes. “Right.”

“What, you wanna tell me you don't have feelings??” Foggy walked around the bed and planted himself in front of Matt's face. “Don't turn your back on me when I'm forgiving you.”

“I don't … you don't understand, Foggy.” A familiar stinging sensation behind his eyes made him nearly scream into his pillow. Why did he always have to be this _goddamn weak_?? “I don't get to have _friends_.”

“So you've never had friends then?” Okay, maybe Foggy was growing angry again, but he wasn't going to explode. He was trying to get both of them back on some safer groundings, but it was really hella difficult!

“Yes, I did. But that was six years ago.” Matt sat up now. It was a slow and exhausting action and looked difficult and strenuous, but eventually he was more or less facing the other man. “And I never get to keep them.” At least he had managed to fight back the tears. 

“And what about us, Matty?! What does that make us?” Foggy tried to hide his shock about the tiny piece of information he had just received. How lonely could a single person be??

“I'm … I want to be friends with you, Foggy, really, I just -” His voice broke. “I can't. I can't put you in danger.”

“That's not your decision to make.” He now sat down next to Matt and gently let his hand run over his back. “I'm not going anywhere and you better don't try to push me away, because I can be incredibly persistent. Nobody gets rid of me that easily.”

“What if you get hurt? What if somebody finds out and hurts you? I can't … I couldn't live with that.” Nope, no holding back possible any more. Tears broke through and streamed down his cheeks before dripping into his lap. 

Foggy pulled him closer so that Matt's head was resting on his chest, ear over his heart, and kept rubbing his back in soft circles. “And what you're currently doing is called living? No offence, Matt, but all you do is studying and … daredeviling.” 

“That's a stupid word.” He sniffed and tried to collect himself. It did not work. 

“I know, but there isn't really a verb for what you're doing, is there?”

“Probably not.” 

“Anyway. I mean I know about Elektra and that you two were kinda close, but apart from her – and my humble self – you don't have any friends, you barely go out and just spend your day in the library or here, running your fingers over Braille until they're sore.” Matt tried to protest, but he ended up just opening and closing his mouth without actually saying anything, until Foggy continued: “Don't even try to object. I won this case. And now please get rid of that jacket of yours, it's drenched in sweat and blood and who knows what.”

Matt seemed to hesitate, but he did as he was told and struggled against the clothing until it fell to the floor. He was left slightly shivering in the coolness of the room, cheeks damp and flushed from crying. At least the tears had stopped flowing. 

Though that didn't last for long. Foggy _hissed_ at the sight in front of him, as soon as he returned from the closet with a fresh shirt. Obviously he had seen Matt's body in the shower, but the light there had been rather bad and Foggy's view had been drawn to the blood rather than the rest. And then later he had seen the front of Matt's torso, but again the blood had been more important, so what he had to see now was quite a shock, really. 

And it wasn't only that there were scars, no. There were _huge_ scars, reaching over several inches of Matt's skin, some of them merging into one another, creating even longer marks. Then there were the smaller ones, littered all across his chest and stomach, like a map. 

But even that wasn't the worst yet. 

Because the worst, the worst of this whole situation were the thin scars on Matt's forearms, neatly set next to each other, too neat to have their origin in fighting. 

Foggy stood in front of Matt, frozen in place. In one hand he was still gripping the clean shirt, while he had lost control over the other one, which was now tracing the pattern of the marks in front of him. He carefully followed the pattern from Matt's chest over his shoulder, until he reached his lower arms. His breath hitched as realization hit him.

That was also when finally Matt pulled away with a flinch, snatched the shirt from Foggy and stormed off into the tiny bathroom attached to their room. It didn't contain more than a sink and a toilet, but there was enough space so Matt could stumble inside and sink to the floor after locking the door behind him. 

Almost immediately after, there was a soft knock. “Open up, Matty.” Of course it was Foggy. “Can we talk about this? Please? I just want to help.”

'I know! I know, but you can't, you can't, you can't! You just can't!', Matt practically screamed inside his head. He knew he was losing control over his thoughts and emotions, but he couldn't do anything about it. He could feel his breathing quicken and he heard his heart hammering inside his chest, while tears were streaming down his face again. 

“Please Matty? I don't wanna break open the door.”

“Just … just give me, ah give me a second.” Again his voice broke. “Just a second.”

“Okay, I'll wait, just unlock the door at least. I promise I won't come in, but I'd feel better if I knew that you won't … do anything.”

Matt had to force himself to stand up, his whole body aching and trembling and his legs were all wobbly, but he managed to unlock the door with a quiet 'click', then he sat back down. He leaned against a wall and got out his razor-blades from its stash under the sink. 

He knew he shouldn't do it. He certainly knew he'd regret it. But it also seemed like a good – though risky – idea. Just … distraction from his thoughts.

It stung when the blade cut through his skin for the first time. Matt took a deep breath and repeated the move. And again. 

Until suddenly Foggy entered. He burst inside with such suddenness, that Matt jerked away violently and dropped the blade.

“What the-” Foggy stopped mid-sentence. He seemed to be frozen in shock for a few seconds, before he kneeled down next to his friend. “What are you doing?” He sounded soft and sad and quiet and it broke Matt's heart. What had he done?! He shouldn't have unlocked the door! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Why did you – why did you come in?! I told you to – you said you'd -” His voice broke down to a harsh whisper. “You should have stayed outside.”

“I called your name. Twice. You didn't answer. I got worried.” Foggy made a weak attempt of a smile. “Let's go back to you bed, okay? You'll put on your shirt and I'll … I'll clean you up. Sound like a plan?”

After a while of consideration, Matt nodded. He figured it couldn't get any worse than this and the best way to not upset the other one even more, was to cooperate. Aside from that he noticed how cold the floor he was sitting on actually was. He was just glad he didn't have the energy for a complete breakdown or a panic attack or both. Cause that would've been bad. 

“Alright, here you go.” Foggy helped him up and led him to his bed, sitting him down on the edge. He then went back to get some disinfectant, while Matt put on the piece of clothing. He struggled for a few seconds before he managed to get it done properly. “I'm not a nurse, so I'll just bandage it, okay?” Again he only got a nod for an answer. “Alright, I'm finished. I say you try to sleep and tomorrow we'll take the day off. You don't get a say in this.”

Foggy waited until Matt had laid down underneath the sheets and then walked to the other side of the bed and joined him. At first the other one went stiff like a board at the sudden contact, but he relaxed soon. Eventually his breathing evened out to a soft snoring, and finally Fogy allowed himself to follow him into sleep.

What a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: writer's block coming up, I'm afraid. Well, maybe not completely, but enough to slow me down.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elektra makes a reappearance. Also fluff.  
> I don't know why, but this whole thing is getting fluffier by the minute?? I had actually intended this to be a whole lot more heavy, but it kind of got out of hand. I don't even know what happened along the way. Gee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I made it. Took me ages, as promised, but I defeated my writer's block. Still, the next chapter will take a while again, because I'm currently working on four fanfictions at the same time, sooooo ... yeah.  
> Well those are just from the Daredevil-fandom. I also have one from Spn and Hannibal, but they're kind of not going anywhere.

“How are you feeling?” Foggy sounded worried, but still a little distant. He was sitting on Matt's bed, next to his legs. 

“Great.” Matt groaned as he slowly sat up, pain shooting through his sore body. His muscles were hurting from the excessive drill of the past night(s), due to the movement his stitches were stinging sharply and a dull ache radiated from his bruises. Which were a lot. And if that all wasn't enough yet, he now had to face Foggy's disappointment – again – and he'd rather not. But there was no way around it and he knew it. “Just great.”

“Yeah. I don't believe that.” Foggy got up and got a bottle of water before he sat back down. “Lucy said you should drink a lot to make up for the blood-loss.”

“Already thought so.” He smirked wintery and grabbed the bottle. “I got experience.” With that he gulped down half the bottle at once.

“Of course you do.”, Foggy sighed. “I know you don't like talking about it, yesterday made that clear, but I need you to tell me: do I have to be worried about you?” He paused for a second. “Well, apart from your daredeviling.”

“I … w-what?” He cradled his hands in his lap and anxiously kneaded them. He knew exactly what the question was implying, but he was not ready to talk about it. Like ever.

“I saw the scars. Not the … the obvious ones. The ones an your arm. I'm not stupid, I know what those are.” Matt was currently praying to become invisible. This was the most uncomfortable talk he'd ever had to go through and he wished it would stop. “And I also know that … this, must have been going on for a while now. But I'm asking you: do you want to die?”

“Umm … no.” Woah, that sigh that Foggy had just heaved was so damn full of disappointment, it cut straight through Matt's heart. Alright, so no sugarcoating here. “I-I don't know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe.”

“Okay. That's all I needed to know.” That was a lie. A huge, gigantic and immense lie, so big his heart skipped a beat. But Matt wasn't gonna call him out on it. He didn't have the right to do so. “I mean it's not, how could it be??” Ah. He hadn't expected that. “But I don't want to force you. I don't want you to think you _have_ to tell me everything, just because you think … whatever it is you think.”

“I don't mind. Just ask.” He did mind. But it was okay. He deserved it.

“Okay. That Stick-guy.” Foggy inched a little closer and took the water-bottle from Matt, who was holding it in a death grip with both hands. He'd been doing that for the past few minutes, his knuckles had already turned white from the effort. “You still didn't tell me that story.”

“I did. He trained me.” His voice was practically begging for his friend to stop. But of course he didn't.

“Yeah, but there's more to that. Please don't lie to me, Matty, not any more.” He sounded like he was close to tears, which Matt couldn't understand, he didn't know what he had done now – so naturally he frowned – but he knew he couldn't get out of this. 

“He … he found me at the orphanage. When I was losing control.” He picked up the little hitch of Foggy's breath, as always when he wanted to say something, but he cut him off before he could form a single word. “I don't only have to focus to hear and smell and taste all those things. I also have to concentrate on blocking everything out. And sometimes I can't. Sometimes it gets too much.” He took a deep breath. “His first words to me were: 'They think you're getting worse. But you're getting stronger.' He … he must have known what I was capable of, though I don't know how.”

“So he just thought 'Hey, let me turn this kid into a ninja'?”, Foggy huffed. “What a creep.”

“Not … not exactly a ninja, no. A soldier, yes.”

“That is worse, Matt.”

“Maybe. He always said there was going to be a war and that I needed to be ready for it. But … his methods were brutal. And I was too soft.” He lowered his head in shame. “I … made him a bracelet out of the wrapping paper of some icecream, the one I had when he gave me my first lesson. He left the minute I handed it over.”

“That's … that's mean. That's just … he's a dick.”

“I wanted a dad. He wanted a soldier.” Matt cleared his voice.

“I don't think you just _wanted_ a dad. I think you _needed_ one. How old were you when that happened? Nine?”

“Almost ten.” It sounded more defensively than he had intended. “But I got over it.”

“Bullshit.” Foggy softly squeezed Matt's arm. “You didn't. But you know what? That's okay. Because you are _allowed to have feelings_. In case you haven't noticed yet.”

He wanted to contradict Foggy, but something in the back of his head told him that wasn't a very good idea. So he didn't. “Okay.”

And that was it. That was everything they talked about that morning. Which was also because Foggy had class, while Matt stayed in bed. He had managed to walk to their small toilet without collapsing on the floor, but it had been difficult and hurtful and when he had returned to his still warm bed, his whole body had ached for at least half an hour, before the dull pain had decreased. So yeah, attending his lessons today was really not within the bounds of possibility, which Foggy had made clear to him.

Foggy also took notes for him, so Matt had to worry about one thing less. 

But of course he wasn't granted the peace he needed. 

 

It was about one hour after Foggy had left, that Matt woke from a deep and calm sleep. At first he wasn't sure what had been the reason for that, but then he suddenly picked up on the second heartbeat in the room, accompanied by quiet breaths, and he shot up in his bed, fists raised defensively. Unfortunately the movement hurt like hell and he couldn't keep from wincing, as pain shot through his body. 

“You should stay down, Matthew.”

Now it was shock, dripping down his spine. “Elektra?” Great, he sounded like a schoolboy in front of his crush. “What … what are you doing here?”

“I need your help.” She didn't sound very fond of that. 

“Do you now.” He wasn't happy either. “And what would it be, that you would need help with?”

“Stick.” She could already see him launching into a dry chuckle, but she cut him off: “He is not what you think he is.”

“A misogynistic, violent, abusive and rude asshole?”

“… alright, maybe he is what you think he is. But he's also more than that.” Elektra seemed to have trouble finding here next words, which was quite unusual for her. “He was involved in your accident.”

 

“She did _what_??!”, Foggy exclaimed. He had just come back from class, only to find Matt sitting on the edge of his bed, nearly dressed. He had looked angry and confused and Foggy had had to usher him back under the covers before he had asked any questions. And now _he_ was pissed, because apparently Matt's ex-girlfriend had decided to stop by and ruin the day. “How the hell did she even find you?!”

“My name is on a list, Foggy. Together with our room number. It wasn't really that hard.” He was clearly trying to hide his distress, which didn't exactly work. Part of the reason therefore was, that he was fidgeting with his blanket like crazy and kept adjusting his position, propped up on two pillows. 

“And what did she want? She broke your heart – no, don't even try to deny it – and now she comes crawling back?? What kind of a shit-show is this?!”

“She didn't come 'crawling back'.” Matt sighed and rubbed over his tired eyes. “She told me something about Stick and I'm not sure I wanted to know it.” 

“Why, what did he do now?”

“Apparently I had slightly enhanced senses even before the accident. The chemicals only intensified them. I guess if I hadn't been blinded, I'd have some kind of super-vision or something.” He shrugged and again shifted in his bed. “Stick must have found out about it and thought 'Hey, let's turn this kid's life into hell'. Elektra thinks he wangled something so the whole scenario worked out in his favour. Except I was a disappointment to him because I was too soft and he took off.” That last part sounded a little bit too bitter for it to be sarcasm, but Foggy didn't let him get away with it.

Instead he huffed angrily, inched a little closer to his friend and poked him into his chest. He was careful not to poke into any of his wounds, though. “I'll say this exactly once, Matthew Michael Murdock!”, he said, using his calm lawyer-voice, which he had learned to use after like two weeks into law school. “You are not a disappointment. To anybody but douchebags. I mean this asshole apparently _blinded_ an innocent child, _on purpose_ , just so he'd get some kind of child-ninja-soldier, to fight a war that's still not here and I doubt there ever will be. He's a selfish dick, and if you think otherwise, I will flush your rosary down the toilet, because I'm pretty sure self-loathing is a sin, no matter how hard you pray or whatever it is you Catholics do.”

“I'm not … I'm not self-loathing.”

“ _And_ self-harming, mixed with a hint of suicidal tendencies.” There was a sudden silence after these last words, heavy and uncomfortable. A part of Foggy wished he hadn't said it, but another part of him was kind of pleased with the look on Matt's face. Sure, there was a little bit of shame in there and shock, but also the slightest trace of understanding. 

“It's just … I know what you're saying.” Matt's voice was soft and small and tired. He looked tired, too. The emotional kind of tired; the one you don't want to see on somebody's face. “And I know he isn't a good person. But he still saved me.”

“He is the reason you had trouble keeping the world out of your head in the first place.”, Foggy argued. 

“I don't know what I'd be without my senses, without my … abilities.”, he quietly confessed. It was as if saying these words were causing him – more – physical pain. And yet, that he described himself as 'what', instead of 'who', made Foggy want to punch a wall. 

“You're not a _thing_ , Matt. Not a 'what'. You're a person and not a weapon.” He let out a quiet sigh. “But look, I don't know who I'd be without my sight, either. It's because we're used to our current situation. Obviously, you won't get rid of your senses and your ninja-crap, but that doesn't mean you have to be grateful to the man who made you master these abilities. Do you understand?”

Matt nodded. Then he ran a hand through his hair. “I don't know what to do with that information.”

“Which one?”

“That Stick caused the accident.” It was true, Matt had no idea how he felt at the moment. Sure, there was anger and probably frustration and already a small amount of what-could-have-been-if-scenarios, but apart from that, he had no idea how he was supposed to feel. Angrier? But he couldn't stay angry forever. And he couldn't just forget the whole thing, either. 

He hated it. 

“Makes sense.”

“No, no it doesn't!”, Matt snapped. He regretted his tone the second he closed his mouth. “Sorry. I didn't mean to … to snap.”

“Dude, it's fine. You're going through a lot, I think you're entitled to snap for once in your life.”

“Umm … alright.” He took a deep breath to calm himself down. “But it doesn't make sense, that he'd just … why did he pick me?! All I ever did, was listening to the sirens at night and making up stories to them. Why would that be a reason for him to … I just don't get it.”

“Maybe you should ask him.”, Foggy joked. Or, well, it was _supposed_ to be a joke, but the other man seemed honestly to be considering it. “Dude! I'm kidding! You are _not_ going to seek him out and try to, to … to _fight_ him or some shit!” Again he poked him. “You hear me?? You can't even walk more than three steps without looking white as a sheet.”

“But-”

“Oh, don't even start! I won the case with clear evidence! Now shut up and scoot over so I can put on a movie.” 

Matt gave him a slightly perplexed look but did as he was told. “I'm not exactly a movie-person, you know.”

“Well, lucky for you, I am a fabulous narrator. So you will listen, and maybe sleep, and I'll wake you up if I hear anything suspicious, like for example weird ninja-ex-girlfriends, breaking into our room.”

There wasn't really anything left to say and Matt didn't dare to argue. It would probably just make matters worse and he'd end up strapped to the bed, while being violated with Disney's 'Frozen'. 

And so it happened, that the Matt Murdock leaned his head on the shoulder of his best friend and listened to the hilarious narrations. They watched 'Maze Runner' and Foggy described Newt as 'baby-faced, but also not. He's got like really big, dark puppy-eyes. He's cute and I don't understand why. He just is.'

 

As the movie was over and the credits started rolling, Foggy took a look at the finally relaxed man resting on his shoulder. Matt seemed to be close to sleep, his breathing was calm and slow, he was blinking lazily, but he was still gripping his blanket like a life-line. 

“Do you want me to keep talking?”, Foggy asked. He had a feeling that it might make the other one feel safer, if he had something to keep him grounded. This feeling was only confirmed, when Matt drew his eyebrows together as if he was about to start crying, but he managed a nod. Foggy just hummed approvingly and quietly wiped away the single tear, rolling down the bridge of Matt's nose and dripping on his cheek.

Long story short, now the My-mom-wanted-me-to-be-a-butcher-dude, talked about the most random things that happened to cross his mind, with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen slowly slipped down his shoulder and came to a rest just above his heart. 

It only took a little while longer, before sleep came down on Matt like a heavy blanket, silencing everything except for the sound of his friend's heartbeat in his ear and the feeling of Foggy's voice, buzzing through his chest.

He was gone within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you guys kill me if I put this story on ice for a few weeks? I got so many ideas for new stories and I kinda lost my motivation for this one and for "The Avengers and the Devil of Hell's Kitchen".  
> I'll continue if you say no to that, though :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stick shows up, trouble ensues. Big time.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> past sexual abuse, panic attack, idek just don't blame me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me along time to write this, I know. The next chapter will take a while, too. But there are only gonna follow like two or three more chapters and then I'm finished :>

“Foggy, I have to go to class eventually! And I don't want to lay in bed all day!”

“Matt, last time you got up – which was like two hours ago – you bumped into a wall and looked like shit when you came back.” Foggy raised a hand to silence the other one. “No, you listen to me! You are seriously injured, lost a lot of blood. And I am _not_ letting you walk down a single hall! Try again tomorrow.” 

And with that he left, to go and take down notes for both of them, leaving Matt in his bed, huffing in frustration. 

Great, so now he had to waste another day, had to try and sleep or read to keep his mind from thinking too much. Thinking was dangerous in his current state. He didn't know if he'd be able to block it all out, all the self-doubt and guilt, now that he couldn't distract himself with exercise. 

Because there was a lot of guilt. Of course they'd talked about his nightly activities and how that affected their friendship and Foggy had said he forgave Matt, and that he understood why he hadn't told him, but that couldn't possibly be the end of it. And it was Matt's fault. It was his fault and his fault alone, that their friendship had gotten such a huge hit. 

His fault. 

And yet Foggy was still here, still _cared_ , still … still his friend. Was that what friends did? Stick together, even in shitty times?

And yet, his lies weren't even the end of it. There were more where these came from. Because apparently Stick was gonna show up sooner or later, to try and kill Matt if he didn't cooperate. 

And he hadn't told Foggy. God, he'd be so pissed. Maybe he should tell him. He should definitely tell him. Yeah, he'd tell him the second he came back from class. 

Except he never got the chance to do so.

 

This time he saw it coming, recognized the heartbeat the second it entered the building. The sound alone was enough to let a wave of nausea run through Matt's body, having its origin in cold fear. 

As quickly as he could, he got up and put on some jeans and a shirt. Then he added a jacket to his outfit, grabbed his cane and stormed out of the room, just in time to sense the man at the end of the hall. For a few moments neither of them moved, just 'stared' at each other. Matt tried to slow down his hammering heart and calm his breathing to hide how bad of a shape he was actually in. 

Then the other one took a step forward. Matt immediately jumped into action, rushed towards him and took him by the elbow, steering him away from his room and down some stairs. 

On the way outside they passed a few fellow students. One of which just couldn't hold himself back and sneered: “That your dad?”, he grinned. 

“I'm rather orphaned than having this piece of shit as my dad.”, Matt hissed back and pulled the older man with him, outside of the building. He ignored the student's surprised huff, walked a few more steps and then planted himself in front of the other man. “What do you want, Stick!”

“Thought I'd say hi to my favourite orphan.”, he replied. 

His voice alone was enough to let Matt clench his hands around his cane, but he wasn't gonna show more than that. “Cut the shit and start talking!”

“I wouldn't have expected such language from you, Matty.”, Stick said in faked shock. “Rude. Do you talk like that with the people you beat up, too?”

“No, to them I'm polite.”, the vigilante snapped. “What do you want?!”

“Didn't Elektra tell you?” He waited until a group of students was really close, until he continued the sentence, loud enough for them to hear: “I'm here to kill you and everyone you love.” It was very much like him, seeking out drama like that. He liked the attention, liked to spread fear.

A few heads turned, a few heartbeats spiked, but Matt just let out an angry huff and smirked. He looked dangerous like that, like an animal, ready to attack. “I would love to see you try, old man. But don't you think after six years I haven't improved? Because believe it or not, I'm living my life without your stupid war in it. Without you in it. And that's the best thing that's ever happened to me: you, leaving me. It was your choice, sure. But it was a relief, looking back.”

“Oh, stop whining. Let's go somewhere private and get it over with.” He actually sounded annoyed. Then he turned towards the group of people near them, who were listening closely and snapped: “You wanna come, too, and take bets or something?!”

“Go ahead, I'll be right there. Just gotta do something first.” Matt gave the other man a little push, then he turned to one of the girls and smiled. “Sorry about that. He's an asshole.” She nodded a little confused. “Would you do me a favour, though? My roommate, Foggy. He doesn't know that I left. Could you maybe tell him I'll be back in an hour tops? Room 512.”

“Umm … yeah. Of course. Are you sure you're gonna be okay??”

“Yeah.” Again he gave her a smile. Then he turned around and followed his former mentor around the corner of the next block and into a small alleyway. Then he took the fire escape to the roof.

“You actually found yourself a friend??”, Stick snickered as soon as they reached the top. “I always knew you were soft, but this, this is a whole new level.”

“You know, Foggy is the reason why I haven't killed myself yet.” Again he gave the older man a dark smirk, masking how serious he actually was. “Now. Why exactly does Elektra think you want to kill me?”

“Maybe I don't have to kill you after all.”

Matt squinted suspiciously. “What are you talking about?!”

“Maybe I'll just kill your little friend.”

Matt felt as if somebody had just emptied a bucket full of ice above his head and it was now running down his spine. “Don't you dare!”, he hissed an clenched his fists. “Don't you dare go anywhere near him!”

“Then do as I say!”, Stick demanded. 

“Never again!”, the vigilante whispered back. “Never again in my life!”

“So what now? You wanna fight me? You wanna hand me over to the police? What? WHAT Matthew!” 

“Yeah.” Matt swallowed hard. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Wow. Now I'm scared.”, Stick huffed. “But I don't believe you'd ever so much as touch me. You're too soft, too weak to actually hurt me. I wish I had known that _before_ I wasted my time with you.”

That hurt more than it should have, but Matt wasn't gonna let that stop him. He wasn't gonna let him get away. Again. “Touch?”, he asked, voice dangerously dark. “Touch how? Touch you like you touched me? All those nights I was too exhausted to even stand up, so you decided to 'punish' me? Like that?” He paused for a second, listening. Hollow satisfaction filled him when he noticed how the other man had stiffened, how his heart was beating faster, how he was gripping his cane tighter. “Oh, but you'd like that, wouldn't you? That would be like a dream come true.”

“You never complained.”

“I wasn't able to, because you choked me until I nearly passed out. On second thought, I actually did.” He was struggling to keep his voice down, with all the anger boiling in his guts.

“Then you should have fought!”

“I was a child!”, Matt finally yelled, not being able to contain his emotions any longer. “I shouldn't have HAD to fight, you ignorant dick!”

“I taught you to!”, Stick shouted back. “I taught you how to defend yourself, but you were too weak to do it, even back then! You haven't changed at all, surrounding yourself with soft things, trying to blame everyone else for YOUR SHITTY LIFE!”

Matt let out an inhuman roar, leaped forward – and pushed the older man towards the edge of the rooftop. He seemed to freeze for a second, slightly swaying, before he fell, back first.

For one heartbeat there was nothing but silence, until it was suddenly broken by the terrible sound of flesh hitting cement, bones shattering into pieces, making their brutal way through muscles and skin. And then … nothing. No breathing, no heart beating, no blood rushing through veins. 

Dead. Stick was dead. Matt had killed Stick. He had killed somebody. The one thing he had sworn himself not to do! 

_Be careful of the Murdock-boys. They got the devil in them._

With his pulse at 180, heart beating anxiously against his ribcage and his breathing ragged and fast, Matt made his way down the fire escape. He didn't even notice when he scraped over some insanely sharp peace of metal, cutting open his hand. 

Maybe it was just fake? Maybe Stick had survived? Being the cockroach he'd always been, had somehow managed to get away? Maybe he'd already sneaked off?

But the closer Matt got to the place of impact, the stronger the smell of blood got, until it was breathtaking, lingering in his nose, nearly blinding out any other smell. Except for the distinctive scent of old man with too much aftershave and a whiff of incense. 

It was him. Stick. His body unmoving, no blood pumping, only a small pool of the hot fluid building underneath him, the heat radiating from him getting less and less, cooling down.

Fuck.

Matt couldn't hold himself up for any longer, slowly sinking to his knees, barely feeling the blood soak through his trousers as he realized what had happened. 

What was he gonna do? The police would show up any minute now, somebody must have seen them. They were gonna arrest him, put him in a cell with criminals. No. That's not quite right. Not only with criminals. But with _other_ criminals. 

Because Matt was convinced he was one, too. Foggy would probably slap him if he ever said anything like that, but how was he any different than all the rapists, murderers, thieves? How was he different, the oh so heroic Devil of Hell's Kitchen, who was supposed to save people? Save them, not kill them. Put them into prison, let the law do justice. He wasn't supposed to let emotions control him, let them make him do stupid things. Things like taking a life. 

How was he still allowed to be walking around freely? Why hadn't Foggy stopped him? He should have. Should have done that. Should have put him where he belonged.

Maybe he should just turn himself in. It would be over, then. 

But he didn't get any more chance to do … well anything, really, because suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder and then a voice he couldn't understand and the distant sound of sirens and he wished he would just die, but of course nobody listened to his screaming thoughts. 

Instead somebody hauled him up by his waist, until he was somewhat standing. Then he was being led to a car, being sat into it. 

He was fairly sure somebody was asking him questions, but he didn't understand them. It was like his brain was drowning in fog, everything morphed into white noise while he tried to get a hold of his wheezing breaths.

 

Matt didn't know how exactly, but some time later he stood in front of his and Foggy's dorm room and Foggy was talking and then hugging Matt and maybe also a little crying, and then they were in the shower with Foggy slowly and gently undressing Matt, who was still hazy and disorientated and not responsive to anything, plus he was so cold he was shivering. 

 

“I pushed him.”, he suddenly said, clearer than he would have given himself credit for. “Pushed him off.”

Warm hands stopped rubbing feeling back into his skin. Matt was already missing the soft sensation, but then they returned in full force, scrubbing and cleaning his body under a warm spray of water. “The police say he must have jumped.”, Foggy eventually said. He sounded strangely dull, as if he was trying to keep in a thousand questions. “Pushing doesn't fit the … the landing.”

“Didn't. Didn't jump. 'd never do that. 's too selfish.”

“They may have footage.”, the blond continued, unimpressed by his friend's insistences, although he seemed a little relieved that he had found his voice again. “But we won't talk about that now. Later.”

It took a while until Matt managed to decipher that sentence, braking it down into words, until finally its meaning reached his tired brain. “What?” If they had footage, why wasn't he in prison yet? Why was he back here? Why was Foggy here, too? How had he not left him yet??

Foggy sighed. “C'mon, let's get you clothed and into bed.” 

“Okay.” Matt stepped out of the shower with wobbly legs and slung a towel around his waist. Then they went back to their room, with Foggy looking out for anyone who might see them, because he wasn't sure they wouldn't ask questions about the other one's scars and more or less fresh wounds, including his by now somehow bandaged hand. Somebody must have taken care of the cut. 

As soon as they entered, Foggy shooed Matt into bed, pulling the blanket up to his nose. “You are not leaving this bed until your toes are warm again.”, he announced when Matt attempted to get up again. “You were out there for ages, with barely any clothes.”

“... really?”, the brunet asked weakly.

“You didn't know?” Foggy frowned. “According to our neighbours, you ran out like the devil himself was after you in the thinnest jacket ever. And you just took off without a word, only this girl showed up just as I got back from class and said you'd be back in an hour. Tops. That was two and a half hours ago!” He paused. “You had me worried, you know. I'm not angry.”

“You should be.”, Matt whispered. He didn't know why he'd said it, but he knew that he probably shouldn't have. The only thing he currently knew for sure was that he had killed a man and he felt like everyone should hate him, should blame him, but nobody had said anything like that. Yet. And that made him feel even more insecure.

“What?” Foggy went to his friend, gripped him by his shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position. He looked him right in the eyes with a mix between concern and shock. “What did you just say??”

Matt was taken by surprise, but he was also stressed and emotional and _angry_ with himself. “I said you should be.”, he repeated, broke free and got to his feet on the other side of the bed. “I killed a man! I was missing for hours! I let you down!”

“You … this isn't about me, Matt.”, Foggy snapped and went around the bed again, but Matt backed away until his back hit the wall. His eyes were wide open, staring blankly ahead, while his lips were slightly parted, letting out little pants. He looked terrified, though also kind of angry.

“Not about you? Of course this is about you!”, he croaked, seemingly on the edge of yelling, but he caught himself and lowered his voice, vibrating with agitation. “You were the one waiting, you are the one who has to live with a vigilante, a criminal, and not only that, no” A joyless chuckle escaped him. “You have to live with a murderer! You have to live with _me_! And I'm sorry for that, I truly am, I wouldn't want to put up with myself either, but since you have to, Stick thought I was your friend and threatened to … to hurt you, and I couldn't … I couldn't let him.” He was panting hard by now, breathing in short and ragged breaths, face pulled into a pained expression, tears welling behind his eyes. 

But Foggy just stared at him in disbelief. “What do you mean he _thought_ you were my friend?? What's that supposed to mean?! I _am_ your friend, Matt! That's why I'm still here, that's why I'm trying to help you!” His voice was vibrating now, too, mixed with angry tears, streaming down his cheeks. “Don't you dare tell me we aren't friends! Don't you dare!”

“But I'm not … you're … you're too good for me.” The saddest thing about this stuttered sentence weren't the words itself. It was the pure desperation with which they'd been delivered. Matt honestly believed that. And it broke Foggy's heart. 

“Maybe. Maybe I am.”, he finally said. “But that doesn't mean you get to decide whether or not I care about you. You understand?! It's not your call!”

“I told you I couldn't let you get hurt.”, Matt whispered, instead of reaction further to the whole friend-or-not-friend-debate. “Couldn't let you get hurt.”, he repeated. 

“And I didn't.” Foggy sighed. “Listen, I'm not saying it's thrilling that you killed him. But maybe it was necessary.”

“There is no valid reason to kill a person, Foggy!”, Matt snapped, voice dangerously low now. “Not even rape or torture or even murder!” He was shaking with anger, taking in one shaky breath after the other. “Death would be too merciful! I shouldn't have killed him. I should have … should have gotten him locked up!”

“Rape.”, Foggy repeated flatly, ice rippling down his spine in cold fear. “Why did you just say rape?”

Matt didn't answer. Instead he pressed his lips together and lowered his head. He clenched his fists, but apparently that wasn't enough, because soon he brought one of them up to his mouth and buried his teeth in his skin, sucking in painful gasps of air around it, eyes wide open. The only clear emotion in them was panic. Utterly, blank panic. 

“Whoa, okay, calm down.”, Foggy tried to unsay what he'd just blurted out, trying to ignore his own shock. “I'm sorry. Stupid question. Just uh … relax. It'll be fine.”

But he couldn't. Matt couldn't calm down again, too far he had already retreated into his mind, wild chains of thoughts blocking any kind of rationality. It just was too much, all of it, filling his head with too many emotions, too many mistakes, too many problems. So he started to cry, because there was nothing else to do, no other solution, nowhere else for his crowded mind to find a valve. But it didn't help, wasn't enough, it only got more tears, dropping to the floor. 

Matt had to cry so hard, his knees grew weak and he slid down the wall, choking down painful gasps of air. He hit the floor and his hands fell weakly into his lap. He let his head fall back against the wall, lips opened into a silent scream, while hot tears streamed down his cheeks. A scream for help, for somebody to come and rescue him. But nobody was there, he was alone, forever alone in his dark world of fire. 

Alone. 

This insight certainly didn't help with the panic climbing his throat, making it harder and harder to breath. And if that hadn't been enough already, for some reason all the oxygen had left the room, leaving him gasping for air, scared he was suffocating.

Where was Foggy? Where'd he gone? He'd been here a minute ago, but now Matt couldn't hear him anymore, couldn't smell him, couldn't feel him. 

Where was Foggy?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt give his statement at the police station.  
> He tells Brett something he'd rather kept to himself.
> 
> Shaky law-stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took really long again, I'm sorry. I also keep writing more and more stories, without completing the old ones, though this one is probably nearly at its end. 
> 
> But hey, I'm in a writing mood again, so there's gonna be a lot of updates in the near future.

It had taken over half an hour until Matt had calmed down enough to be guided into bed, but now Foggy crawled under the blanket next to his friend, inching up close until he could wrap his arms around him, holding him close, holding him tight, pulling him up to his chest. 

He never would have thought that taking somebody's life would have such a great impact on Matt. Not like this, anyway. Maybe it was because Stick used to be his mentor slash abuser, or maybe it was because of some catholic-guilt-stuff.

Foggy used to think that maybe Matt just didn't kill people because he was afraid of breaking his morals, but now it was clear that he genuinely did not want to kill. That he couldn't.

Because he was a good man.

Foggy couldn't, he didn't even want to imagine what it had to be like for Matt, knowing he'd actively killed his own mentor. Yeah, he probably knew he hadn't been a decent human being, but still. 

So now Foggy was firmly holding Matt to his chest, rocking them both softly, until finally the vigilante's dry and breathless sobs changed into messing crying, his tears wetting Foggy's shirt, as he desperately held on to his friend. 

Neither one of them said something. This wasn't the right time for words. Words weren't gonna make it better, weren't gonna make it okay. And it wasn't. It wasn't okay at all, but it also wasn't the end of the world. And it certainly wasn't for Matt to overly blame himself for the death of a dick, to work himself up like that.

So for now Foggy held him even closer, stroked his back and occasionally placed a soft kiss on top of his head. 

Eventually Matt's breath evened out as exhaustion took over, stilling his strained body, silencing his screaming thoughts. His mind was probably too tired to come up with any terrible nightmares either, which could be the only explanation for Matt's near to peaceful sleep.

When Foggy saw that his friend was soundly asleep, he relaxed a little and closed his eyes. 

They still had time to discuss all of this the next day. 

That was the last thought he had before he let himself drift off further into the dreamless blackness of sleep.

 

The next morning came faster than wanted, but eventually Matt's alarm went off, ripping both men from their much needed sleep.

Foggy groaned and sat up to turn off the offending noise. Next to him Matt did something similar, except he immediately got up and vanished into the bathroom. 

After a few minutes he was back, but it looked like he now didn't quite know what to do, because he kept lingering at the door, opening and closing his mouth a few times until he finally said: “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”, Foggy asked and frowned. 

“Everything.” He gave him a sad little smile, gone too fast for it to be any kind of convincing. Then he let out a quiet sigh and ran one hand through his hair. “What about the police though? Why'd they bring me here? Why am I not in prison yet?”

“Dude, they tried to talk to you. Medics tried to talk to you. But it didn't work, so they brought you here and said you should stop by at the police station soon. Or they'd stop by.”

“What do you mean it didn't work?”, he frowned.

“You were totally out of it. You were sitting next to Stick when they arrived, shaking and rocking back and forth.” Foggy looked at his friend with a sad sigh. 

Matt let out a silent 'Oh'. Then he blushed. The he started crying again, but he managed to get himself back under control after some angry sniffing. “I didn't … didn't notice. Don't remember.”

After he had kneeled down next to Stick's lifeless body, all thinking had shut down, nothing had reached his brain any more, as if he'd been locked into a gigantic bubble. Luckily for him, he also didn't quite remember his hysterical crying, mixed with like two manic attacks. Only bits and pieces had remained. 

If luck was the right word to go with. 

“That's okay. They said that might be the case,”, Foggy tried to reassure him. “But listen, you said some pretty … tough stuff. Yesterday. Also about Stick. And you ...”

“I know.”, Matt softly said. “I remember that.” He flashed a tender smile at Foggy. That particular part had stayed in his head. “But I don't want to talk about it.”, he added. 

“Yeah. No.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “But I think you need to talk about it with someone. Doesn't even have to be a shrink or me. Just … someone.”

Matt nodded and gave him another small smile. “Yeah.”, he agreed and hoped he sounded convincing. Maybe he even would. Maybe he could go to his priest. Maybe not. This subject wasn't something he was fond of talking about. He very much wasn't. 

 

“My name is Matt Murdock. I'm here to give a statement.” He tilted his head a little and tried to look confident, but he was nervously clutching his cane to his chest and probably looked rather scared. 

“Alright, follow me.” The officer led him to a small room and pulled out a chair for him. “To your right.”

“Thanks.” Matt attempted a smile, but quickly stopped and sat down instead. 

“He'll be here in a minute.” With that the man left.

The lawyer impatiently tapped his fingers on the table and tried to calm himself down, but his anxiety was already bubbling up, adrenaline was shooting into his legs and he wished he hadn't come here.

Though at least he really didn't have to wait very long. After like half a minute, the door opened again and somebody entered. 

“Hi. My name's Brett Mahoney. I found … you. That day.”, he said.

Matt nodded. “Right. Hello.”

“You were pretty far gone. Had me worried for a second. But the medics said you'd be okay, so we brought you to Foggy. There was no use in questioning you right then. And you're nearly a lawyer, so I figured you wouldn't run.”

Matt took a deep breath. He had to get his shit together now. And he _was_ nearly a lawyer, so he should be able to do this! He had to do this! So with the calmest voice he was capable of right now, he asked: “Is there a reason why I should have run?”

“Well, you did mutter things like 'I killed him' the whole time.” Brett looked at him and squinted. “You don't remember that?”

Matt gulped. Shit. He'd said that?? “No. Only … small pieces. From later that night.”

“Then tell me why you might have had a reason to say these things?”

“Because ...” He lowered his head a little. “Because I did. We … had an argument. And I pushed him.” There was no use in lying. Foggy had said they might have tape. So lying would only make it worse.

“Okay. Before we continue, though, could you tell me his name? Because we found nothing on him. Nothing at all. And please also tell me in what relation you stood to each other.” 

“Stick. His name's Stick. I don't know if he's got another name, or how old he is or where he's from. But … he used to be my mentor. At the orphanage.” Again he took a deep breath. “He wasn't very friendly. We … parted ways roughly a year after we first met.”

“And why was that?”

“Because I got too attached to him. So he left.” He shot the detective a grim smirk. “Looking back it was the best thing that could have happened.”

“... Why?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Well, you have to.”

“Not really, no. Because it is not relevant to this case.”

“I think it is.” Brett paused for a second. “Because what I don't understand is: why would two blind men go to a rooftop. And why did a girl tell us that this Stick-guy was” He took a look at a piece of paper. “'Here to kill you and everyone you love'? What's that about?”

Matt clenched his jaw and looked down to his lap. He took a shaky breath, then he looked up again. “He … like I said. He wasn't a very nice person.”

“Give me details!” Brett leaned forward on his chair. “Or I won't be able to help you. And Foggy made me promise to help you!”

“He did?” Matt frowned. He picked up how the other one nodded, so he let out a heavy sigh. Better not piss off Foggy any more. “Alright. Fine. But you have to promise me something!”

“And what would that be?”

“You will neither ask questions about anything I will tell you now, nor will you interrupt me! You will not tell anyone anything about what I will tell you! And you will never approach me on that subject, ever!” He shortly straightened his glasses. “Are we clear on that?!”

Brett wondered what could be so bad that he wasn't even allowed to ask question about it, but he knew he wouldn't get anything if he didn't agree. So again he nodded. “We're clear.”

“Alright.” Matt ran a hand through his hair. Then he lowered his head again. Then he sighed and finally spoke up: “He abused me. And not in the old-fashioned way with a few punches here and a broken nose there.” He swallowed. “He … found me at the orphanage when I was ten years old, that part is true. But he didn't just show me how to cope with my blindness.” He cleared his voice. “He'd … he'd keep me awake for three days straight if I didn't manage to do what he told me to. He'd beat the living crap outta me if I did something wrong. He'd … he'd” He raised his head again and stared right at the detective. “He'd touch me when I was too tired to fight him.” Brett's heart missed a beat at that, he even gasped a little. But he remembered their deal and didn't say a word, even though it was hard. Really hard. “And then he left, because I wanted a father. And he didn't want a son. That was when I was eleven.”

“How old are you now?”, Brett eventually asked. He was a cop, god dammit! He locked people like Stick away and now he wasn't even able to do that any more, because that asshole was already dead! And it pissed him off, because he would have loved to lock him away for a lifetime. 

“23.”

“So … he stayed away for twelve years and then suddenly came back? Why?”

“He said he needed me for something. I said no. He threatened to kill me and everyone I love. And I couldn't … I couldn't let Foggy go through the same things I had to go through. Because Foggy is good and kind and happy and I didn't want him to get destroyed by Stick. I couldn't … I had to. Because Stick didn't make empty threats.” 

“I understand.”

They were quiet for a few minutes. Brett had to collect his thoughts and process those horrific informations he'd received, while Matt was preventing a minor panic attack by controlling his breathing like his life depended on it.

Then he finally asked: “Foggy said something about a tape. That there's a tape of that … of that incident.”

“Right. Yes.” Brett shook his head to get rid of some rather disturbing thoughts that had made their way into his mind. “There was a security camera out on the roof. Luckily, it was in the exact right angle to capture Stick's fall.” Matt squinted. “I had several people look over it and they all agreed on one thing.”

“And what might that be?” Oh, great, anxiety attack coming up. Breath, Murdock, just breath it away, you got this!

“He could have saved himself. But he didn't.” The detective closely watched his opposite, and he didn't like what he was seeing, because Matt had started shaking again and his breathing was ragged, if yet not too fast and his eyes were darting through the room and now he frowned. 

“... What?” It couldn't be. “Can't be.”

“Yeah, but it is. He had a save stand on that edge. But he decided to let himself fall.”

“He wouldn't do that! He's too selfish for that! He'd rather … he'd rather kill me than leave me alone once and for all.”

“Well but evidently, he did.” Brett paused shortly. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. I'm fine.” But he really wasn't. He'd been too weak to fight Stick twelve years ago, and now he'd been too weak to kill him. How had he survived so long, if he was like this?? “Can I go now?”

“Uh yeah. You aren't guilty of anything. You are free to go wherever you want.” Whatever it was he'd expected to happen after he'd said those words, it certainly wasn't this: Matt got up so quickly he pushed his chair back with his knee pits and then he stormed out of the room in a hurry, leaving a slightly blindsided Brett. “Okay, it was nice talking to you, too.”, he said to himself and shook his head. Then he stopped the tape that had been running the whole time and put it together with the case file into a box. Maybe they'd need it in the future. 

You could never know, right?


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> much fluff at the end

“Matt? You in there?” Foggy gently knocked against the bathroom door. “You alright?”

“I'm okay, Foggy.”, Matt replied and curled up a little tighter on the floor. “Just … give me a second.”

“Okay, sure, whatever you want.” He went to his bed and sat down. After a short pause he added: “But you can always come out and give me a hug.”

For a few seconds it was very quiet. Then there was a soft shuffling noise behind the door, a moment later the lock clicked and Matt stepped out of the small room. His hair was fluffy and sticking into every direction, his eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks were flushed. Thankfully his friend didn't remark on that, but instead held out a hand.

The vigilante slowly came closer, then he took the offered hand and let himself be pulled onto the bed, between Foggy's legs. The blond gently tugged the other man against his chest, so that his head was resting just above his heart. 

“Do you want to tell me why you're upset?” There really wasn't any way of fooling Foggy. He always saw right through Matt's cracked facade, no matter how hard he tried to keep it up. 

“He uh … he got me to tell him about my past with Stick.” He slung his arms around Foggy's waist and pressed his face into his shirt, deeply inhaling his familiar scent to calm himself down. “It wasn't … wasn't nice.”

“Shit.”, Foggy muttered under his breath. In an attempt to make him feel safe, to make him feel loved, he started stroking his neck and cheek. Occasionally he planted a kiss on top of his head. “He shouldn't have.”

“Said otherwise he wouldn't be able to help me. Said you made him promise. To help me.”

“I did, yeah. But still. He shouldn't have dug so far.”

“He couldn't have known.”

“No.” Foggy sighed. “No, he couldn't have.” He pulled his friend even closer now, gently rocking back and forth.

For a long time they stayed like this, hugging and rocking and maybe Matt even cried a little. And if he did, then Foggy didn't say anything because he knew there weren't any words to calm his friend's troubled mind. 

Eventually Matt's breath widened out, long inhales, long exhales. His grip on Foggy relaxed a little bit and he lifted his head, so that his face was now pressed against Foggy's neck, mouth just on his throat. 

The blond tried to ignore the warm feeling that spread in his stomach at the intimate touch and gently lay down on his back, pulling his friend with him and finally holding him firmly, holding him close.

Holding him, to hold his world together.

 

“Foggy.”, Matt whispered into Foggy's ear and carefully squeezed his arm. “Foggy, I need to tell you something.”

“Wha-” Foggy snapped out of his sleep and lifted his head to look at Matt. “It's like … way too early to be awake right now.”

“It's important and if I don't tell you now, I might never.”

“Alright then, what is it?” He yawned, sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

“I think I realized something.”

“That it's too early?” Matt shot him an annoyed look, so Foggy quickly raised his hands in defence. “Sorry. Go on.”

“I'm … I'm not sorry that Stick is dead. He is one of the few people who deserved it. Hopefully he will now burn in hell forever.” He took a deep breath. “But I'm horrified about the fact that I broke my own rules. That's what … that's what made this so difficult. And I promise you, I will never, never in my life do it again.” He lowered his head and looked at his hands. “Because if I would, I wouldn't be better than them.”

“That's … good. I guess?” Foggy gently patted Matt's arm. “I'm glad you told me. Explains a lot. I also believe you. When you say you won't do it again, I believe you.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” The vigilante gave him a soft look. “Now you can go back to sleep.”

“What about you?” Before he could get up, Foggy put a hand on his chest to keep him in place. “You can stay here. If you want?”

This time Matt's whole face lit up with the most gorgeous smile, it made Foggy's stomach go all warm and a delighted but at the same time quiet chuckled escaped him. He opened his arms for Matt to lie down. There was a little bit of shuffling until both of them lay comfortably, then the blond pulled his friend closer and buried his nose in his neck. 

They were both fast asleep only minutes later. 

 

They woke up before their alarms went off and they had to face the chaos of the day again. Naturally, they stayed in bed, all tangled up and kind of hugging each other. 

“You know, I could get used to this.”, Matt eventually murmured. 

“Yeah, me too.”, Foggy mumbled back. 

He turned his head, so that he was looking at Matt, gaze lingering on his lips. 

When the vigilante felt the intense stare prickling on his skin, he couldn't help but crack a wide smile. And then he suddenly leaned forward and lightly brushed with his mouth over Foggy's, silently asking for permission.

After a few surprise-stricken seconds, the blond responded: he pushed forward, pressing their lips together. 

At first Matt had feared he'd made a mistake, because Foggy's heart had skipped a beat before speeding up, his breath had hitched, but now every thought left his brain, the only thing he registered was _touch_ and the warmest feeling spreading in his stomach, making every fear go away.

It was such a sweet and innocent kiss, Matt thought his heart might explode. 

They lay in bed, softly kissing and holding each other, only stopping to let out a shaky chuckle or an awkward grin every now and then. 

And Matt thought again he could get used to this.

Then Foggy's alarm went off and threw them back into reality.

“One day I will throw this damn thing against the wall!”, the blond growled. He pressed one more kiss on Matt's lips before he got up to get dressed. He shot a look back at the dark-haired man with a sneaky grin. “You wanna help me getting dressed, Chaton?

“That is not Punjabi, is it?”, Matt asked and joined Foggy. He lightly let one hand trail over the blond's chest. “And what does it mean?”

“Oh, I googled it.” He grinned. “It's French for … 'Hero'.”

“I don't know if I should believe you.”

“Oh, you shouldn't.” Foggy chuckled. “It means 'Adorable kitten'.”

“Seriously?”, Matt grinned back.

“I mean with that fluffy hair of yours and your dark eyes and the pure sassiness you possess? Yeah. You're very much like a kitten. And often enough an adorable one.”

“Pff, then I shall call you 'Mi Alma'.” He gave him a fond smile. “And I shall not tell you what it means.”

“I'll google it then.”

“Go ahead.” 

Yeah, Matt could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo, that's it, I guess. I noticed about two chapters ago that there wasn't that much of 'love' in this 'Avocados in love', but I think I made up for it.
> 
> Also 'Mi Alma' means 'My Soul', which is pretty fitting. Because I think Foggy is in many ways Matt's soul. 
> 
> Please leave comments of how you liked it and if you want a series where I explore their love-relationship further, which I've been thinking about. 
> 
>  
> 
> Go check out my page on Instagram: Jonah_Smith_907_fanfictions
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING


End file.
